


Grand Jeté

by letterfromtrenwith



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Ballet AU, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterfromtrenwith/pseuds/letterfromtrenwith
Summary: When George Warleggan quits a high powered job in the City to take care of the finances of the South West Ballet, run by his friend, Francis Poldark, it changes his life - even more so than he expected.Elizabeth Chynoweth came to the South West to come back home, take on new challenges, and leave behind a less than perfect time in her life. She intends to focus on her art, but everyone knows what they say about best laid plans…





	1. Chapter 1

George was straight out of bed at the first bleep of his alarm; it wouldn’t do to be late on his first day. Once showered and dressed, he navigated around the piles of still unpacked cardboard boxes to make a quick coffee. The machine had come straight out of its box when he arrived, although he did have to rummage for a clean mug.

Halfway through the cup he glanced at his watch – 7:45 am. Francis had told him to be there at 10. Right; this new schedule was going to take some getting used to. He’d thought through almost everything about taking this job: relocating, the pay cut – the quite significant pay cut, moving into a completely new industry, not to mention splitting from the family firm…A change in working hours hadn’t even crossed his mind. He’d spent the last few years getting up at 2 in the morning to catch international markets, elsewise being at his desk by 8 am at the absolute latest. On top of travelling all over the world at the drop of a hat.

All that was done with now, he supposed, although it was no great loss exactly. Especially the travel. George had been to almost every corner of the world – Sydney, Tokyo, Moscow, even Riyadh – but to him they all looked the same. Hotels, offices and airport lounges. It had been in one such lounge that he’d realised he needed to get out. So when, not three months later, Francis had come to him with his request, at had seemed like fate. Despite all the upheaval he’d known it would cause, he’d taken the job. Upheaval was probably putting it lightly, to be honest. Breaking the news to his father and uncle had been exactly as terrible as he’d expected.

“What do you mean you’re putting your notice in?!” Cary had exploded, even his bald head flushed with rage. George’s uncle had never been the calmest of men. “You can’t put your notice in! Nicholas, talk some sense into your idiot son, will you?!”

“What’s going on, George?” His father was a more even-tempered man, but his brow was furrowed, flint grey eyes narrowed.

“I’ve been offered another job and I’ve accepted it. That’s all.” Despite their anger, he’d felt an odd calm while he sat there. He’d spent years trying to live up to their expectations. It was time to do what _he_ wanted.

“Without consulting us?” Cary demanded and George had bristled, ready to reply that it was not up to them, but Nichols cut in.

“Where? Pascoe’s? Because you know they’re not half the firm we are. And, if they’ve offered you more money, we can easily match it, you’re due a pay grade increase soon as it is.”

“No, not Pascoe’s.”

“Well, where, then? Basset’s? Coutts?”

“No – “

“Surely not consultancy work?” Cary curled his lip in distaste.

“ _No_.” George had taken a deep breath. “I’m going to be the Financial Director for the South West Ballet.”

He winced into his coffee as he remembered the reaction to that. Needless to say, it had gone down like a lead balloon. Storming out of the office, Cary’s curses ringing in his ears, had been the last time he had seen or spoken to his father or uncle. His secretary had packed up his office for him, and that was the rather inauspicious end of his career at Warleggan Wealth Management. He certainly couldn’t go back there, no matter what happened now. Even in the unlikely event Nicholas and Cary would have him, sheer stubbornness wouldn’t allow him to go. He’d wanted out of that work, so going to a rival wasn’t an option either. They’d likely only hire him to get one over on Nicholas, anyway. So, he needed to make a success of this. _No pressure._

Eventually, it was time to go. It was only a 20 minute drive from his new flat to the Hall for Cornwall, the large Truro arts complex where the company was based. Property prices in the county might have been on the up, but they were still nothing compared to London. As far as George was concerned, he’d got the place for a song.

As he pulled his car up around the back of the building, he spotted a door marked ‘ _South West Ballet Staff’_. Francis had dropped round a key card for him but just as he was locking the car, the door opened to reveal the man himself. Francis Poldark was tall and wiry with a mass of reddish-brown curls and a perpetual air of nervous energy. When he wasn’t dancing, that is.

George had first met Francis at prep school – right here in Truro, in fact. Despite getting on well, they’d almost entirely lost touch when Francis followed his elder sister, Verity, to the Royal Ballet School and Cary and Nicholas decided in their wisdom to ship George off to Gordonstoun in Scotland. A few years later, while George was working for the firm in between his first and second years at Oxford, and Francis was in his first years with the Royal Ballet, they had run into each other by chance in Covent Garden. After sharing a drink, Francis had offered to get him a ticket to the production of _Cinderella_ he was appearing in. Neither ballet nor fairy-tales were exactly George’s thing, but he’d agreed so as not to seem rude, and in the end had been surprised not only by how much he’d enjoyed it but primarily by the way performing transformed Francis. He’d seemed to have barely changed from their school days, but on stage he was a different man altogether. Confident and expressive, drawing attention even though he was in the corps de ballet at the time.

Naturally, he’d risen quickly through the ranks, and George had been to see both him and Verity – who was also in the company – dance many times thereafter. The three of them had become close, socialising between their busy schedules. For an Economics Student, and later a Wealth Management Executive, he’d become oddly immersed in the world of ballet, Francis persuading him to tag along with a few company social outings. He’d expected dancers to be snobbish and elitist, but actually mostly found them friendly and welcoming.

A few years ago Francis had joined the South West Ballet, persuaded by an old ballet teacher so far as George knew, and Verity had followed shortly thereafter. The company hadn’t been in the best shape either artistically or financially, but Francis had helped the management begin to turn it around. In relatively short order, he’d found himself appointed to succeed the outgoing artistic director, despite his relative youth. He’d come to George to ask if he knew of anyone who would be interested in taking on the financial side of things, likely not expecting George to ask if he could have the job himself, but agreeing enthusiastically nevertheless.

“I’m sorry I can’t show you around properly right now, but I’m already nearly late to class. Here’s the finance office, Rosina will help you find everything. I’ll catch you later, bye!”

And he was off, leaving George with Rosina who was a sweet, cheerful looking young woman sitting at a desk in a rather disorganised office.

“So,” she said, looking around her, “where would you like to start?” 

~

“How’s it going – woah.” Francis stepped into the room, gazing around in amazement at the now almost spotless office. “Going well, it seems.”

“It’s a start.” Rosina had turned out to be efficient and helpful, if a little overwhelmed by the task she’d been left when the accountant she’d previously worked with retired. They’d managed to get rid of all the old clutter which wasn’t needed anymore and impose some semblance of order on what was left. Considering the lack of attention that had been paid to them, the finances of the South West Ballet were actually not in the worst shape ever, although they company was mostly just ticking over. He’d already identified a few places where they needed to cut costs, and few others where they could make savings. They could do with a new accounting system, and probably to change banks, but that could be dealt with in time.

“It’s more than we’ve had for a while. Like I told you, I’ve been pleased with what we’ve managed to do artistically, but I’m not afraid to admit that the management has left a lot to be desired. I think you’ve done enough for today, though. There’s no need to work the same hours you did in London!”

“What – “ George looked at the watch he’d slipped off a little while earlier and was shocked to realised it was after nine o’clock. He’d told Rosina to go home at half past five, but had no idea so much time had passed. “Oh. Wow.”

“Workaholic.”

“You do know you’re still here, don’t you?” Francis laughed.

“Choreography changes. Everything has to be perfect in ballet, you know.”

“Well, unless you want a visit from the taxman, everything has to be perfect in accounts, too.”

“Do you want to get a drink? Celebrate your first day?”

“Oh, that’s nice of you, Francis, but – “he stifled a yawn; now that he’d noticed the time, he also realised how tired he was. “I should probably get some rest.”

“Are you sure?” Francis produced a bottle of whisky from behind his back and waved it enticingly. George couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, perhaps just one…”

It really was just one, considering they both had to drive home, but it was a good one, and he didn’t end up getting home until after eleven. He debated setting his alarm back to match his new starting time, but then he thought about how much work he still had to do. Francis had told him not to overdo it, but he’d taken this job and he was determined to do it well. Once he’d got the day to day running smoothed over, it would be a lot easier.

“I’m glad you came,” had been Francis’ parting words to him when they’d got into their cars. As he lay in bed, slowly dropping off, he realised he hadn’t felt such a sense of achievement in his work for he didn’t know how long. He was glad he’d come, too.


	2. Chapter 2

“Damn, damn, damn, damn…” Elizabeth tied her shoes as hurriedly as possible in the empty changing room, cursing both her decision to take the bus that morning, and the bloody woman who’d forced them to wait for fifteen minutes because she couldn’t remember which pocket of her handbag she’d put her travel card in.

“Oh, Elizabeth, decided to join us, have you?” Francis called as she slipped into the studio. He wasn’t being serious, of course. They hadn’t even started; everyone was still warming up around the sides of the room. She joined a group in the corner, slipping easily into her usual stretching routine, finding it dissipated her irritation. As she came to a close, two arms slid around her waist from behind and she was tightly embraced.

“Hello, gorgeous girl. How are you today?” Caroline Penvenen looked more like she should be striding down a couture runway than leaping across a stage, but she’d thankfully chosen to put her incredible talent to good use and so had become a principal with the South West Ballet, via early years at the Birmingham Royal Ballet and La Scala. She’d arrived at the same time as Elizabeth and the two had become fast friends. To some, it may have seemed like a step down, but Elizabeth knew that she’d come back to Cornwall to take care of her elderly uncle and so considered it entirely worth it.

Caroline wasn’t the only one with local roots. It was remarkable, really, the way they all seemed to have gravitated back to Cornwall. Elizabeth herself was originally from the area; and when she’d met Francis and Verity Poldark at the Royal Ballet School, they’d all been shocked to realise that they’d grown up just a few miles apart but never met. There were a few places she could have gone after her departure from the English National Ballet, but the lure of home and working with Francis had brought her here.

“All the better for seeing you, darling.” She teased and Caroline laughed, planting a deliberately sloppy kiss on her cheek before she let her go. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, wiping her face. “How’s the knee, Margaret?”

“Getting better all the time, I’m happy to say.” Margaret replied from her position on the floor where she was slowly working said knee back and forth. For anyone else, the minor fender bender she’d been in might have been a trivial matter, but it had left her with what had originally been thought a career-ending injury. Blessedly, Francis insisted on all of his dancers having excellent medical insurance, and treatment from a specialist surgeon in London had allowed her to dance again, although she had taken a temporary reduction in status to soloist to let her ease back into it.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No, thank God. Not really, anyway. It’s stiffness I’m mostly worried about. Or, God forbid, it locks up in the middle of a bloody jete or something. Give the audience a good laugh, I suppose.”

Before Elizabeth could reply, Francis clapped his hands together and announced it was time to begin. They were well into rehearsal for their new season, and had even started early preparation for their Christmas show, although that was months away yet. First was their autumn debut – Copland’s _Rodeo_ , followed by _Dracula_ – for October, of course – and then the de Valois double bill of _Checkmate_ and _Bar aux_ _Folies-Bergere._ It was quite an intensive program but the company relished the challenge, and since they were a relatively small group it meant lots of opportunities for everyone to shine.

“Okay, can we start with _Rodeo_ – the Saturday Night Waltz. Demelza, Malcolm, to the front please. Everyone else, you know your positions.” Demelza Carne was another Cornish local, born in a small fishing village on the far west coast; she’d taken classes the St Ives School, run by the former South West dancer Edwina Teague. She’d only joined them last season, from the Rambert, which had caused a bit of jealous gossip amongst some of the bitchier soloists who’d hoped to be promoted to the empty principal slot. However, despite coming from a contemporary company, she’d more than silenced any criticism when she’d danced the title role in _La Sylphide_. An athletic redhead with a pretty, elfin face and a wide, easy smile, she was the perfect choice for the Cowgirl, _Rodeo_ ’s lead. Malcolm, her leading man as the Chief Roper, was one of their few outsiders – a Scotsman. Tall and dark, he played the mysterious, dashing hero with ease.

Elizabeth didn’t appear in this section. Indeed, her role in _Rodeo_ was a very minor one, but she had no complaints on that score, since she was playing Mina in _Dracula_ , and the Black Queen in _Checkmate_. Settling down next to Margaret under the barre, she watched her colleagues flow effortlessly through the choreography, Caroline and Ed Carkeek, a soloist completing the four-handed main cast, joining Demelza and Malcolm. The production was an inspired choice by Francis – the Wild West for the South West Ballet.

Francis had been rather thrown into taking responsibility for the company. He and Verity had joined at the behest of its previous artistic director, Joan Nanskervis, a friend of their great aunt Agatha, who had also danced with the South West in her – and its – youth. However, just as the then struggling company had begun to turn around, following Francis’ suggestion that Joan invite Elizabeth and Caroline to join them, Joan had been struck down by a debilitating respiratory condition, forcing her almost immediate retirement. Francis had therefore found himself principal dancer, artistic director and occasional ballet master. In Elizabeth’s opinion, he’d done an amazing job.  Verity had helped, of course, and they’d all been heartbroken when she’d chosen to take a leading principal position with the Scottish Ballet last year, although no one could criticise her desire to strike out on her own after performing alongside her brother for so long.

After running through some more _Rodeo_ sequences, Francis announced a break for lunch, after which they would rehearse some of _Checkmate_ , which excited Elizabeth. She loved the ballet and her role, the dark and dramatic Black Queen. Her climactic pas de deux with the Red Knight was one of her favourite sequences she had ever danced, which was partly down to her partner, Hugh Armitage. Hugh had joined the South West straight out of school, around the same time Francis had arrived, and immediately distinguished himself as a rising star. A fluid, expressive dancer, his slim frame belied his incredible strength and control. He was also a really great partner. Elizabeth had danced with most of the men in the company and had no real complaints about any of them, but, along with Francis, Hugh was her favourite.

“Doesn’t hurt that he’s cute,” Caroline had observed wryly when Elizabeth expressed her admiration for him, to which Elizabeth had merely shaken her head. Hugh was definitely good looking, that was a fact, but he was just a friend and colleague so far as she was concerned. Besides, she’d not had the best time having relationships with fellow dancers before now.

The afternoon flew by, Elizabeth and Hugh completing their pas de deux thrice over before Francis and Caroline practised theirs from _Dracula_. Francis was always rather hesitant about casting himself in lead roles, but the company at large had effectively bullied him into playing the Count, and Caroline’s classical blonde beauty made her the perfect Lucy. A little more from _Rodeo_ and they were done for the day. After a brief consultation with the ballet mistress, Anne Treneglos, Francis announced that tomorrow they would rehearse _Rodeo_ in full twice and then _Folies Bergere_ in the afternoon.

“Hey, Beth, are you coming for a coffee?” Elizabeth looked up to see Morwenna standing over her. Morwenna was a young dancer who spent two years with the Ballet Cymru before joining South West, initially as member of the corps, before a quick promotion to soloist. She also happened to be Elizabeth’s cousin which, in the occasionally bitchy world of dance, had led to completely unfounded accusations of nepotism. Elizabeth might have suggested that she audition, after Morwenna had told her that she didn’t feel sufficiently challenged at the Welsh company, but she’d been taken on purely on talent.

As soon as Elizabeth had seen Morwenna dance she’d known she was a natural, despite Morwenna being just a little girl at the time, and Elizabeth not even a teenager. Morwenna’s mother had brought her to watch Elizabeth’s ballet class and she’d begged to join in – the teacher had loaned her a pair of shoes and then watched with a grin as Morwenna took to it like a duck to water. Elizabeth had never felt anything but great pride in her cousin, especially now she was flourishing with the South West. Indeed, she’d just been cast in one of the leading roles in the Christmas show. Everyone was heartily sick of _The Nutcracker_ , so they were doing _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ and Morwenna was to play Susan, alongside Ed Carkeek as Peter and two children from the St Ives School as the other Pevensies. There was no doubt in Elizabeth’s mind that Morwenna would be incredible.

“Thank, Wenna, but I’m quite tired. I think I’ll just do some stretching and then go home. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Of course, see you then.” With a smile, Morwenna turned and followed the others out of the door.

After her warm down, Elizabeth had a quick shower in the now deserted changing rooms before slipping into some comfy leggings and a big soft, sweatshirt. She would go home and soak her feet, she decided, reflecting wryly on the complete lack of glamour in the life of a dancer. Blessedly, although she suffered the occasional blister and bruise – never escaped by anyone who worked en pointe – she had far fewer problems than many others.

She was just heading for the exit, bag slung over her shoulder, shoes tied to the handles, when she heard Francis calling her name. Turning, she found him standing at the mouth of the corridor which led to the back offices. With him was a man she didn’t know.

“Elizabeth, come and meet George. George Warleggan, Elizabeth Chynoweth. Elizabeth is one of our principal dancers, I think I’ve mentioned her to you. Our _prima ballerina_ in all but name.” Elizabeth fought a blush, wishing Francis wouldn’t flatter her like that. And that he wouldn’t introduce her to strangers when she was fresh out of a day of practice, dressed in a ropey old sweater and with her still wet hair shoved into a messy ponytail. Good-looking strangers at that. George, as Francis had called him, was 30-ish, about her height, with fair hair and a fine featured face. When he held out a hand to shake hers, she noticed that he had the most incredibly blue eyes, which were complimented by the light grey suit and dark blue tie he wore.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Chynoweth.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, please!” She sounded ridiculously eager, and mentally shook herself. “It’s just there’s – ah – there’s actually two Miss Chynoweths with the company.”

“Oh, I see.” He smiled and she found herself smiling back before she realised Francis was speaking again.

“George just joined us a few days ago. He’s going to be our new Financial Director.”

“Oh, well, I hope you like it here.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“I – er – I’d best be going. It was nice to meet you.” She turned and hurried away, feeling uncommonly flustered. What was the matter with her?


	3. Chapter 3

“And it’s worth the investment?” Francis tasted his coffee, made a face and reached for another milk.

“Yes. It’s a decent outlay, but since you’re a registered charity they’ll give you a discount. And it’ll save a lot of time and unnecessary paperwork – the system can handle everything: general accounting, payroll, personnel, even scheduling for your studio space and performances.”

“Wow, really?”

“Yes, it’s a few different programs, but they all work together, and there’s another discount if you purchase several of them.”

“God, George, this all seems so simple and yet so complicated at the same time. I honestly had no idea about any of this.” He shook his head.

“Look, you don’t need to know all this. You’re the _Artistic_ Director. It’s like expecting me to know about…..fouettes? Is that a thing?” George frowned and Francis laughed heartily. George had heard Francis and Verity discuss dance endlessly, but he had to admit he hadn’t taken a lot of it in.

“Yes, that’s a thing. You’ll pick up a fair bit of stuff quickly, I imagine. Rosina will help. She trained as a dancer, you know.”

“She did?” He’d talked quite a lot with Rosina in the two weeks he’d been here. He’d learned that she was born in Marazion, and had studied at the University of Falmouth, but she’d never mentioned any ballet training.

“Yes, but she couldn’t continue. Injury, I think.”

“Shame.”

“Yeah.” Francis glanced at the clock. “Oh, I’d better go. Afternoon practice. Our _Rodeo_ debut is getting closer.”

“You’ve completely sold out, by the way.” Francis looked momentarily taken aback.

“We have? I have to admit, I’m surprised. It’s not the best known show.”

“Perhaps not, but the company has an excellent reputation. The reviews for your last season couldn’t be more glowing.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about ballet?” Francis cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I may not have the technique down, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t do my research!” Taking the job might have been a rather impulsive decision, but he wasn’t going to join an organisation without so much as a quick Google. Every local newspaper, and even a few nationals, had been full of praise for the company’s recent productions, which had certainly given him hope that it wouldn’t be too difficult to put them on a financial even keel.

“Well, that’s a start, I suppose. But you’re going to have to properly immerse yourself. Not like when you used to hang around with me and Verity in London. Once I _finally_ get myself in gear and get you introduced to everyone, you could come and watch some rehearsals. You never know, might even let you join in…” Francis left, cackling at what George was sure was the look of sheer terror on his face.

~

The clock in the stage manager’s office read 6:15pm. Ellen Tabb was her name, a bespectacled woman in her 40s who exuded an air of competence. Francis had told George that Ellen was invaluable to the running of the company, and it hadn’t taken much to see why. She’d been highly amenable to all of the suggestions George had had so far about more efficient management and already come up with plenty of ideas about how to implement them. She’d made a point of introducing herself to George on his second day and said he could come to her with any questions he had about the running of the place if Francis wasn’t available, or it was to do with her responsibilities, for which George had felt pathetically grateful.

Since the company was deep in rehearsals for the new season, Ellen had a lot on her hands, and her work-room was almost as chaotic as the finance office had been when George arrived. That seemed to work for her, however. He didn’t like to pry, but he’d seen the walls covered in what looked like plans of the Hall’s performance spaces and sketches of set designs, along with typed notes on half a dozen things. Her desk was piled with copies of programmes, photographs of dancers in costume, and even sheet music. Somehow she had to cohere all of this into a final production, overseeing the co-ordination of every department, from dancers to costumers, stage hands to musicians. George had considered his own task something of a challenge, but it was nothing compared to this.

She seemed to have taken a well-earned finish at a reasonable hour today which, considering it was Friday, was fair enough. So George left the paperwork on her desk, hoping the fluorescent orange Post-It note Rosina had stuck to it would make it noticeable enough amongst everything else.

The Hall was quite an extensive complex, and he still hadn’t fully got his head around the layout. He realised he’d taken a wrong turn and was about to double back when he heard an unexpected snatch of music floating down the corridor towards him. Music in general wasn’t unexpected here, of course, since he’d inadvertently ended up in the direction of the rehearsal spaces; it was just that what seemed to be playing was rock music. Muse, if George wasn’t mistaken. Intrigued, he couldn’t help but follow the sound, finding it emanating from the closed door of one of the studios. Without thinking, he looked in through the window.

A dozen or so dancers, still dressed for practice by the look of them, were in the room, dotted around the sides, leaning on the barre – he knew what _that_ was – nodding their heads to the music. He hadn’t been properly introduced to the full company, but he’d read all of their personnel files, feeling like he was prying the entire time, despite the fact that save a few payroll details, most of the information was in their profiles on the South West’s website. As he watched, a young dancer with a short, dark bob who he recognised as Morwenna Chynoweth stepped into the middle of the floor and, in time with the entirely incongruous beat, executed a series of perfect – to George’s completely untechnical eye – turns across the room before effortlessly leaping into the arms of a slim young man who lifted her into the air as if she weighed almost nothing. George had met this dancer by chance when he’d previously dropped by Ellen’s office. Hugh Armitage was his name, and he’d shaken George’s hand with a strength he seemed unaware of, welcoming him sincerely to the company.

A few others cheered and clapped as Morwenna delicately came down from her lift, and then two male dancers – Paul Daniel and Ed…something– performed a sort of Cossack-style dance to much laughter. George smiled to himself and was about to turn away when two ballerinas came forward on the other side of the room. Both tall and dark-haired, they were a striking pair. The one closest to the door was Margaret Vosper, who had frightened the life out of him by loudly greeting him in the car park as he was about to go home a few nights previously. Like everyone else so far, she had been extraordinarily friendly, insisting he come for coffee with the dancers the next time they went.

But it was the other who really captured George’s attention. The _other_ Miss Chynoweth. Elizabeth. He’d found his mind drifting back to his first day quite a few times since, remembering the faint blush that had come into her cheeks when Francis had called her their ‘ _prima ballerina_ ’, not to mention her wide smile and soft eyes. She’d seemed keen to get away, however, although he’d hoped it was nothing personal. Rather guiltily, he’d researched her a bit more thoroughly than he had the other dancers, even finding a video online of her performing a solo in the title role of _Madame Bovary_ the previous season. On stage, she was just as stunning as off, her movements elegant and lyrical, the emotion of the dance written in every gesture.

Even here, dressed in her simple practice wear, accompanied by pop music, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. In perfect synchronicity with Margaret, she took several flowing steps forward, picking up speed to leap into the air, hitting flawless splits and landing effortlessly, the women finishing en pointe at the exact same second, to whoops of approval from the others. George barely noticed Margaret, however. As Elizabeth spun out of her finishing position, she paused for a moment facing away from him, exposing the low back of her top and the nape of her neck bared by her hair piled up in a bun.

She glanced in the direction of the door and, although he couldn’t be sure, George thought their eyes met. With a gasp he pulled back, striding quickly away down the corridor, feeling horribly embarrassed and trying desperately to put the image of her sailing through the air, face alight with joy, out of his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

“All right, _Folies-Bergeres_ from the top. We won’t need most of you until after lunch now, so you’re free until then. Back here by 2:15 at the latest for _Dracula_ in full.” At the balletmistress’ words, a few dancers gathered up their things and headed for the door, either to another practice room, or for a long lunch. After an hour’s general class first thing, they’d run through _Checkmate_ and now it was time for its companion piece. Both had been devised by the legendary Ninette de Valois, but were very different in style. _Bar aux Folies-Bergeres_ , to give it the full title, was a much more romantic counterpart to the avant-garde _Checkmate_. Inspired by the Manet painting, it was a one-act piece with an even smaller cast than its partner. It was Margaret’s proper come-back in a way, as she was playing the role of the seductive can-can dancer La Goulue. Considering she had to dance the famous high-kicking steps, it was a challenge with her injury, but if she said she could do it then Elizabeth believed her.

Her co-stars were primarily soloists – Emma Tregirls had been cast as the barmaid, a role for which she had both the perfect look and more than the requisite ability. Paul Daniel was to play the waiter she loved, with Ruth Teague, Keren Smith and two girls from the corps as La Goulue’s fellow dancers. As she made her way to the centre of the room, Elizabeth caught Ruth sending a nasty look at Demelza’s back and rolled her eyes. Ruth was not a bad dancer, but it was generally accepted that she had her place in the company primarily due to the fact that her mother was the head of the St Ives School, which supplied the company both with potential candidates and youth cast members.

Ruth had coveted Verity’s principal slot and been the most vocal in her sneering at Demelza’s appointment. Demelza, to her infinite credit, had been nothing but unfailingly polite to Ruth in return and if she saw the look, she pretended she hadn’t. Like Elizabeth, she’d obviously decided to stay and watch, as had Caroline, and the three women settled down in an unobtrusive corner. Morwenna came over to join them, but Hugh pulled on his hoodie.

“I’m going to nip in to see Donna, my shoulder’s aching a bit.” Donna was the company physiotherapist.

“That’s chucking Elizabeth about – ow!” Caroline made an exaggerated hurt expression as Elizabeth whacked her on the arm. “Seriously though, are you okay?”

“Oh, fine, just stiff I think. Catch you this afternoon.” With a quick wave he disappeared out the door, the last to leave. Anne closed it firmly and then clapped, signalling it was time to begin.

The practice went off without a hitch. Paul and Emma’s pas de deux was sweet and beautiful, and Margaret’s high kicks were flawless, as were the rest of the women’s, even Ruth’s. Elizabeth considered herself an experienced and skilled dancer, but she didn’t envy them the task of perfecting the can-can en pointe.

At the final note, as Emma returned to that iconic pose, the observers burst into applause, cheering and whooping. With a laugh, Emma took a bow, blowing her ‘audience’ exaggerated kisses. After Anne had given the cast what few notes she had, she announced it was time for lunch and reminded them when they needed to return. She gathered up her own things and departed while others changed their shoes and slipped on sweaters. Margaret sat down next to them and pulled at the ribbons around her ankles.

“That’s was amazing, Margaret.” Demelza smiled. “How’s the knee?”

“Okay, actually. That’s the first time I’ve really gone for it and I was expecting it to lock any second, if I’m honest. I’m really pleased with that.” She’d danced with her knee strapped, and she adjusted the tape, flexing the joint gently. “I’ve got plenty of time, so it’s looking good, all in all.”

Margaret wasn’t in _Rodeo_ and had only a small role in _Dracula_ , as one of the Weird Sisters. For most dancers, such a long period of inactivity would be highly frustrating, but when recovering from an injury it was a blessing. Elizabeth herself had sadly been forced to miss their last Christmas production – _The Christmas Carol_ – due to bruised ribs. As disappointed as she’d been, it had allowed her to be fighting fit in time for their spring-summer season.

“Lunch, girls?” Caroline asked as they headed out. “We’ve got a couple of hours so how about we treat ourselves to trip to Craftworks? Build up our energy for the Count!”

Everyone was prompt back for the afternoon session and there was palpable excitement in the room. Ever since the earliest of prep, it had been clear that _Dracula_ was going to be a great production, and this was their first full run-through. Elizabeth loved her role of Mina, and was dancing with Hugh again, as well as a beautiful and unusual pas de deux with Caroline’s Lucy.

While the dancers were finishing off their warm ups, Francis – the Count himself – entered, accompanied by another man, a tall blonde with a handsome face. He was lithe enough to be a dancer, but didn’t quite have the right posture.

“Hello, everyone! Before we start, I’ve got some introductions to make. This is Dr Dwight Enys – he’s going to be our Medical Director, so Donna and Leila will be working under him.”

“Lucky them,” Emma whispered from somewhere further down the room before hissing as Morwenna elbowed her in the ribs.

“And – ah! There you are! – this is – “

“George!” Caroline cried when George Warleggan slipped in behind the other two men. Elizabeth frowned as her friend skipped across the room and embraced him fondly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Demelza and Margaret raise their eyebrows at each other and felt an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, I didn’t know you two knew each other?” Francis glanced between them.

“Oh –er – “ George glanced around, obviously a bit embarrassed by having the attention of the company on him. “I didn’t actually know Caroline was with you.”

“It’s been ages!” Caroline exclaimed, still holding onto him.

“Yes, well you can catch up later!” Francis said. “Since we’ve got some rehearsing to do. Everyone, this is our new Financial Director, George Warleggan. Now, let’s get on. Would you both like to stay for the rehearsal?”

“Oh, yes, please.” Dwight smiled and George nodded in agreement. Francis chivvied the dancers into place, and they finally organised themselves, starters moving into position, the two newcomers sitting down by the piano. As she took her place, Elizabeth felt hyper-aware of eyes on her, but it wasn’t the doctor she was concerned with. 

~

With a sigh, Elizabeth tilted her face into the spray, letting the warm water of the shower relax her whole body. She’d slept late, and was feeling refreshed. Tonight was the opening night of _Rodeo_ , so they’d been given the day free. Although they rehearsed productions while others were in performance, it was tradition that they rested before the first night. Even the most experienced dancers had first night nerves, and a quiet day often helped. Her role was a small one, so she was mainly just enjoying the free time. Or trying to enjoy it, at least.

Ever since that first _Dracula_ run through she’d been feeling a bit odd, and she knew it was to do with George Warleggan. She’d been dancing in front of people for over 20 years, but she couldn’t remember ever being so conscious of being watched. It hadn’t affected her performance if Anne’s notes were anything to go by, but the sensation of his gaze on her had been almost physical. She couldn’t explain it. Or understand it.

Nor could she understand the feeling she’d had when Caroline had greeted him so warmly, or when she’d seen them chatting animatedly at the company dinner the new staff had been invited to. She’d still never got to the bottom of how they knew each other, but Caroline was a beautiful, sophisticated young woman and George was a handsome, intelligent man. One possibility certainly sprung to mind.

She’d run into him outside of the restaurant as she waited for a taxi home. He’d asked if she’d like a lift, but it turned out they lived in opposite directions; kindly, he’d offered to take her anyway, but she’d demurred, not wanting to put him out, and disconcerted by how much she wanted to go with him. She barely knew him. When a cab pulled up, he stepped forward to open the door for her, and when she turned to thank him as she stepped in, he’d said:

“You danced beautifully today. I just wanted to say.” It had been a simple, sincere statement and had completely thrown her for a loop. She shivered slightly now as she remembered the look in those fascinating, icy eyes as he’d spoken.

With a sigh she sat down on her sofa, wrapped in a soft dressing gown, and rubbed her hair with a towel. With hairspray, temporary colour and everything else required for performances, it went through a lot, so when she could she let it dry naturally instead of blow-drying. She tossed the towel to one side and leant back, putting her slippered feet up on the coffee table.

Absently, she gazed ahead of her. On the wall above her television she had a large picture frame filled with a collage of special photos. She would need a bigger frame soon. Her eyes wandered over the images – baby Elizabeth in the arms of her late father; a tiny Morwenna in a too-big tutu; Elizabeth, Francis and Verity in their RBS uniforms; Caroline, Margaret and Demelza blowing kisses to the camera in full stage make-up; and a recent addition, Verity in full Highland dress for the Scottish Ballet’s _Ivanhoe_. She missed her friend badly, although they talked as often as possible. Elizabeth wished she could call Verity now, but she was in rehearsals this week, for the title role in _Jane Eyre_. Verity knew her better than almost anyone, and most importantly, would understand exactly why Elizabeth was finding being attracted to someone – because that’s what she was, there was no doubt about it – very worrying indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

The familiar jaunty melody was just beginning to leak out into the corridor as George approached the doors to the auditorium. It was the beginning of the climactic section of _Rodeo_ and he intended to watch. Tonight was the final performance, and he’d already seen the show in full twice, but this was the fifth time he was going to watch the finale. As a perk of the job he not only got free tickets to any performance, but was allowed to watch from the usher’s seats if the hall was sold out, which it had already been for this entire run by the time he arrived.

The insulated doors could be opened and closed near silently for staff to enter and leave, so he was able to slip in without disturbing anyone. One of the volunteer ushers – mostly students from Truro & Penwith College and Falmouth Unversity – nodded a greeting before returning their attention to the stage. Front and centre, Demelza Carne and Malcolm McNeil performed an energetic duet, the skirts of Demelza’s Old West style dress flowing elegantly as she spun. This was the transformation of her tomboyish Cowgirl into the romantic heroine and she captured it perfectly. George had become intimately familiar with the themes and plot of this piece over the last few weeks. Frankly, he rather regretted not learning more about ballet when he’d been in London with Francis and Verity. Beyond the name of the ballets he’d seen – _Coppelia, The Prince of the Pagodas_ and _Firebird_ among others – he hadn’t taken much else in, apart from a general enjoyment of them. It was really quite a fascinating topic, and he’d found himself passing a whole evening reading up on _Rodeo_ ’s composer, Aaron Copland and original choreographer Agnes de Mille, and a half a dozen other related topics.

There was a momentary pause, the dancers flowing neatly into position as the orchestra struck up the first few notes of the piece George now knew was called ‘Miss McLeod’s Reel’. This was what he had really come for, as it was the accompaniment to Elizabeth’s brief solo. Even if he felt like a stalker, he hadn’t been able to resist watching this section more than once, although he’d refrained from coming more often. It was just that Elizabeth was so enchanting when she danced. The others were excellent, but there was just something about her that fascinated him. He hoped she never found out about his secret trips to the back of the auditorium – Heaven knew what she’d think. She’d been polite enough not to mention catching him peeking in at their practice, but this might be a bit much.

There was a smattering of applause as Elizabeth’s section came to an end and the main cast returned to the stage for the finale, a reprise of the ballet’s main theme, culminating in a romantic embrace between the leading characters. The entire company had been uniformly excellent, but it seemed that the fact it was the final night had given them some extra energy. It really was an impressive production, even more so now that George had an insight into everything that went on behind the scenes – by analysing the costs of each production he’d discovered just how many tiny details had to be considered. At first, he’d been appalled by how much was spent on ballet shoes, until he’d learned that a lead ballerina could wear out a pair in a single performance. He’d therefore managed to negotiate a discount with their supplier in return for being a named sponsor of next season’s programme.

Before the final notes of the score had even died away, or the lights fully dimmed, the audience were on their feet, clapping and cheering. The lights flared once more and the cast joined hands to take their bows, most stepping back to leave Demelza, Malcolm, Caroline and Ed Carkeek at the front of the stage. There was another wave of applause for the four of them, and two young girls from the corps disappeared into the wings, returning a moment later with large bouquets of flowers for the women. With a bit of encouragement from the stage, Francis emerged from the wings to yet more cheers from the audience. It was remarkable, really, that he could look so nervous taking a brief curtain call, when George had seen him throw himself without care about a stage wearing little more than tights and a vest. He certainly didn’t envy Francis at this moment. Ever since a terrifying experience in a Nativity play aged 6, George had studiously avoided anything related to the performing arts.

The ovation had gone on for quite a while in the end, and it was nearly two hours later before the closing night party was in full swing. Held in the backstage complex, it was a lively gathering, dancers hurrying about, some still in costume, almost all still in full make-up. The drinks flowed freely, cast and crew taking advantage of the fact they had tomorrow off before launching into a week of intensive final rehearsals for _Dracula_.

Francis had insisted that George and Rosina attend, along with all the other support staff. Although everyone was very nice and he’d been plied with champagne, Morwenna filling his glass nearly to over-flowing, he felt a touch out of place. He’d socialised with the dancers outside, but this was their domain, a complete contrast to their little paperwork-lined office.

“So, Francis tells me you knew each other in London?” He turned to find Elizabeth had appeared next to him. She’d traded her emerald green costume for a simple black dress, but she was no less striking in it. Her abrupt arrival and opening question had thrown him for a moment, but he managed to recover himself.

“Er, yes, but we actually met at school. Years ago. Sort of lost touch until we bumped into each other by chance while he was at Covent Garden.”

“Did you work there, as well?” He was temporarily distracted by her taking a pull on the straw in her drink and mentally chastised himself.

“Oh, no! I’ve –er – I’ve never actually worked in the arts before. I used to work for a private bank, actually.

“Wow, really?” She raised her eyebrows. “Like, hedge funds and things?”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“So, what made you come here? Surely you made a lot more money doing that? Oh no, that’s rude of me, sorry – “

“No, it’s probably a fair question!” He laughed. “I just, I suppose I wasn’t getting anything out of it, and I wanted a change. A new challenge. Or any challenge, actually!”

“I – “ She looked at him oddly for a moment and he wondered why he’d just blurted all that out to her before she suddenly smiled, soft lips curling attractively. “I know exactly what you mean.” 

~

“Ah! There you are! Any progress?” The balletmistress, Anne, stuck her head around the door, raising her eyebrows at Francis. “Hello, George. Hello, Rosina.”

“Hello, Anne. Any progress on what?”  George raised his eyebrows at Francis, but instead of answering, Francis merely sighed.

“We’re trying to decide on the programme for next season, with some difficulty. Francis obviously thought he could hide out in your office instead.” She came in and leant against a bookcase, smiling ruefully.

“I thought it was suspicious you suddenly wanted to discuss VAT returns….” He saw Rosina smirk behind her computer screen, despite pretending to be absorbed in her spreadsheets.

“Oh, it’s always difficult. We’re understaffed, is the problem.” Francis shook his head.

“Are we?”

“Yes, well, with male dancers. Since I’m only part-time, we’ve only really got two male principals: Malcolm and Hugh. They’re both fantastic, but they can’t be expected to lead a whole season. There’s just Paul and Ed in the soloists, and not many in the corps, either, so promoting someone wouldn’t really solve the problem.”

“It limits the productions we can do.” Anne explained. “We had enough of a nightmare casting _Dracula_ with so many male parts. If Francis wasn’t participating, we’d be stuck. _Lion_ ’s tricky as well, but we’ve just about managed by getting Caroline and Keren to play male parts.”

“We could promote Ed, and advertise for a couple of new male soloists, but there’s no guarantee we’d get them by next season and we need to pick the productions soon so we can start costing them. Or rather, _you_ can start costing them.”

“Well, perhaps George could give us layman’s opinion?” Anne said. “What would you say to _Marie Antoinette_? And _Twelfth Night_?”

“Sounds good, but….” He paused, before deciding to throw caution to the wind. “How about something Greek?”

“Greek?” Francis exchanged a glance with Anne. “Big fan of the classics are you, George?”

“No, it’s just – Well, I’ve had an idea…”

“What sort of idea?”

“I’ve seen from your records that you’ve performed in other venues before, although not for a couple of years, and there’s that open-air theatre in Porthcurno, the Minack. I’ve made some discreet enquiries, and they’d apparently like to get more dance and opera alongside the plays they usually stage, _and_ they’ve not fixed their summer schedule yet. They’d take a portion of the profits, of course, but they’d also bear half the costs, and – I’m not an expert, I admit – but I think the cost of staging would be less than indoors – “

“Stop, stop!” Francis held up his hand and George took a breath, realising that he’d been rambling. The entire time he’d been looking into this idea, he’d been worried that he was overstepping the mark, but equally he hadn’t wanted to bring it to Francis without having at least tested the waters. Now, he was regretting it all. That is, until a smile slowly began to spread across Francis’ face. “George…that’s brilliant!”

“Really? You think so?”

“Yes! Frankly, I’m annoyed I’ve never thought of it myself.”

“We could do _Spartacus_!” Anne suddenly interjected. “It would be perfect in that setting! And it’s only got two main male roles, so no problems with casting.”

“Brilliant! Right, let’s go and speak to Ellen.” Francis sprang up before turning back to George. “Can you put together all the details for us, and then I’ll speak to the management there after we’ve hashed things out on our end? Or would you rather follow it up?”

“No, by all means, once the financial side is sorted out, it’s all up to you lot.”

“George, you are truly a genius.” He flashed a quick grin. “Or perhaps I’m the genius for bringing you here?”

With that, he and Anne disappeared in the direction of Ellen’s office. Still feeling a bit like he’d had a rug pulled out from under him, George sat back in his chair. Rosina glanced after her departing colleagues before turning to him with a look of excitement.

“That was a brilliant idea!”

“I have to admit, I wasn’t sure if they’d go for it.”

“They’d have been stupid not to.” She looked round guiltily after saying this, as if Francis and Anne might have still been lurking outside to hear her cast aspersions on their judgement. “I suppose that explains why you’ve been so cheerful these past few days, with that piece of genius floating around in your head.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” With a shake of his head, he went back to his VAT return. He _had_ been cheerful recently, but it had nothing to do with the Minack idea, although he wasn’t about tell Rosina the real reason: He had a date with Elizabeth Chynoweth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken a while! Thank you for reading :D


	6. Chapter 6

_“…Elizabeth Chynoweth, so tragic and magnificent in last season’s Madame Bovary, makes for an equally spectacular Mina, her strength and determination shining through every step. She is the perfect counterpart to Caroline Penvenen’s delicate, tortured Lucy –_ delicate indeed! Never been called that before! – “ Caroline looked up from her phone and waggled her eyebrows, making Elizabeth and Demelza laugh. “ _The cast is uniformly excellent, from Hugh Armitage’s Jonathan and Malcom McNeil’s Van Helsing, all the way to the Weird Sisters, brought to fantastically creepy life by Demelza Carne, Margaret Vosper and Morwenna Chynoweth_. _However, there is no doubt about it – just as Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee owned the character on the silver screen, this production absolutely belongs to Francis Poldark’s Count. Poldark has been less seen on the stage since he took over as the South West’s artistic director but if this is the kind of performance he’s going to deliver when he does appear, it’s well worth the wait in-between._ Well! That’s the Cornish & Devon Post, but the others are much the same: Western Morning News, The Herald, The Cornishman, even The Gloucester Citizen and The Bath Chronicle!”

“Did you hear that, Morwenna?” Demelza tugged her gently to sit down with them. “We’re ‘fantastically creepy’”.

“Well, that _is_ what all my school reports said.” Morwenna arched an eyebrow and Demelza snorted.

“Creepy you may be, but it seems we are all just background decoration for the great Francis Poldark!” Caroline made a put-upon face and then laughed when Elizabeth swatted her.

“Francis is fantastic and you know it. And it’s not like the reviews haven’t been highly complementary of you, as well.”  Caroline couldn’t deny it. The reception for _Dracula_ had been excellent, and not just in the traditional press according to Rosina Hoblyn, who George had put in charge of the company’s social media. Elizabeth had dropped by the administration office a couple of days ago to put her new mobile number on file – and secretly hoping to see George at the same time, although he was disappointingly out. She’d been surprised by the change that had come over Rosina, who had always been polite and friendly, but seemed to have a newfound confidence. She told Elizabeth that George had also designated her HR duties, so that he could focus on solely on the finance.

Elizabeth had to admit that – as stupid as it was – she felt a tiny twinge of jealousy listening to Rosina enthuse about George. Rosina simply appreciated being given a fulfilling job to do, just like anyone would. Besides, she and George hadn’t even been on their first date yet, she wasn’t about to go and get possessive.

She hadn’t been able to resist going over to talk to him at the _Rodeo_ party. He’d looked a little lost amongst the flamboyance of the dancers, not to mention very attractive; in his shirtsleeves, top buttons undone and his neatly styled hair starting to fall over his forehead after the long day.

There had been a slightly awkward note between them the few times they had run into each other since that chance introduction in the corridor; even that odd, intriguing moment at the taxi, but not that night. She sensed he’d opened up to her a little more than he’d intended when she asked him about coming to the South West, but he hadn’t seemed embarrassed by it, and their conversation had flowed more freely after that. He’d complimented her dancing yet again – she heard such things often, and was always very grateful for them, but his obvious sincerity suffused her with a particular warmth. At a natural pause in their conversation, he’d turned to face her more directly and bit his lip, very distractingly, as if he were considering something.

“I – I don’t suppose you’d like to, maybe, go for a coffee sometime? Or something?”

It was as if whatever reservations she’d been having about getting involved with anyone had simply disappeared from her mind and, completely without hesitation, she’d told him she’d love to. The smile he gave her at that had lit up his face and she couldn’t help but return it. Their eyes met and for one wild moment she’d thought he was going to kiss her. She’d been just about to let him when Caroline appeared beside them.

“There you are! Wondered where you’d snuck off to. Oh, but, “she raised her eyebrows, “am I interrupting something?”

“No.” They’d said it in unison, entirely too quickly, causing a slow grin to spread across Caroline’s face.

“Well, in that case, I must apologise for stealing her away from you, George. Don’t worry, though, I’ll bring her back in one piece.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Elizabeth had muttered as Caroline led her away by the arm, to a relatively quiet area by the costume store.

“So…you and George, hmm? Tell me _all_ about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Caroline tutted at this answer. “There isn’t! We’re just going for a coffee, or something, that’s all…If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Of course I don’t mind! Why would I – “ Her blue eyes suddenly widened and her lips formed a perfect ‘O’ of understanding. “You think that we were – Oh ho, no! No, no, nothing like that. Not that I don’t think he’s great and you should absolutely go out with him, but we’re just friends.”

“You are?” Elizabeth suspected she hadn’t been able to hide her relief at that, since Caroline looked both amused and sympathetic.

“Yes! You remember that awful ex-fiancé of mine I told you about? Unwin? Well, he and George were at Oxford together; they were housemates, which I don’t envy George for at all, I can tell you! Unwin introduced us and we all used to socialise sometimes when I was in London. But since I split with Unwin and went to Milan, George and I have only really exchanged a few emails. You heard him – he’d even forgotten I was with the South West!”

“Yes…”

“Yes, so, stop worrying about me and start thinking of yourself. You need to get back in the saddle,” she paused, a twinkle in her eye. “If you know what I mean…”

“Caroline!” 

~

She and George had both been busy the next couple of weeks, with _Dracula_ among other things, but they’d managed to arrange to meet for lunch one Saturday. There were a few days between the first run of the ballet and the next and Francis had told them to take a break, since they would be going into full rehearsals for the de Valois double the following week.

Elizabeth spent a good two hours that morning going back and forth on what to wear. It was only a café lunch so she wasn’t going to get all dolled up, but equally it was a date with a man she really liked so she wanted to look nice. Eventually, she settled on simple black jeans and a soft cream jumper warm enough that she could go without a coat. It was getting into October now, but Cornwall always had milder autumns than the rest of the country in her experience.

She was a little early so ordered a coffee, the waitress greeting her with a friendly smile. The café wasn’t far from Elizabeth’s flat, and it had become something of a favourite. Just as she was taking her first sip, the bell over the door jingled and she looked up to see George standing in the doorway, looking around. It wasn’t a big place, so he spotted her quickly; she smiled and gave him a little wave, immediately thinking it made her look stupid, but George was smiling back as he came towards her, slipping off his light jacket to hang it over the back of the chair. The forest green colour of his jumper was very flattering. At the waitress’ approach, he indicated he would have the same as Elizabeth.

“You look nice.” Elizabeth felt herself blush and glanced away, wishing she could stop acting like a silly schoolgirl.

“Thanks…Did you find the place okay?” She wondered if she should have returned the compliment  - he did look nice, very nice – but it was too late now and George didn’t seem to have noticed the omission.

“Yes, eventually. I still haven’t managed to find my way around properly, to be honest. There’s been too much to do. I’ve only just finished unpacking!”

“But you’re from Cornwall originally, aren’t you? You said you knew Francis at school.”

“Yes, at prep school, quite a long time ago now!” He laughed. “But we lived further out, near Penzance. I remember my Mum bringing me to Truro once when I was little, but I haven’t been back since.”

“Morwenna’s parents live near Penzance. At Gulval.”

“Oh, I know it! Mum used to visit an elderly lady there. A friend of the family.” He took a thoughtful sip of his coffee. “How did you and Morwenna both end up at the South West? Just by chance?”

“Yes, well, no.” Something inside her jumped instantly to the defensive, used to deflecting accusations that Morwenna was riding on her coat-tails; accusations which always seemed to bother her more than Morwenna. But George’s question was entirely sincere; he wasn’t a jealous professional rival or a bitchy arts journalist. “Yes _and_ no. You probably know she was at the Ballet Cymru before? They’re a very good company but she didn’t think there were many opportunities to advance there. So, when I knew the South West was looking for some new dancers, I suggested she audition, but it was all down to Francis and Anne that she was taken on.”

“She’s very talented.”

“She always has been…” And Elizabeth told him the story of Morwenna’s very first ballet lesson, which led into her own first lessons. She told him about falling in love with dance, and her mother approving primarily because she could lord Elizabeth’s successes over her friends; this led onto her time at the Royal Ballet School with Francis and Verity, then joining the English National after that. When the waitress appeared to ask if they would like anything else, she realised that they’d both finished their coffees and she’d been waffling on for ages. “Oh God! Wow, I’ve just rambled on at you for I don’t know how long….”

“No,” George smiled. “I was interested.”

“We did come here for lunch, though, so perhaps we should eat something? The food here is really good.”

They ended up lingering over their sandwiches as much as they had over their coffees; with a little prompting, George encouraged her to continue where she had left off, and she told him about her 18 months with Ballet Zurich. It turned out he’d visited the city on business a few times and they knew some of the same places.

“Don’t you miss the travel, coming here? From jet-setting all over the world to…Truro?”

“Actually, it was partly the travel that turned me off. I mostly never got to see or enjoy anything, just a long string of endless meetings about essentially the same topics.”

“It’s a big leap to take, if you don’t mind my saying.” She had been curious about his reasons for leaving his old job, even after their talk at the _Rodeo_ party.

“Yes,” he glanced down at his now empty plate with a smile. “Yes, it was. My father certainly wasn’t happy about it.”

“He’d have preferred you in London with him?”

“No, well, yes, but – ah – I actually left the family firm to come here.”  Elizabeth felt her eyebrows raise. Wow, that really was daring. She was impressed.

“Oh my…Well, are you happy you came?” He looked her straight in the eye and smiled.

“Yes, I really am.” She couldn’t help but smile back, her stomach fluttering, and not because it was upset. When they were finally finished – George agreeing with her that the food was delicious – they stood for a moment on the pavement outside. “Would you like to walk those sandwiches off? You could show me around a bit?”

“I – oh no! I can’t!” She glanced at her watch. They had been there for nearly three hours! The time had flown by. “I’m supposed to be going to a Pilates class with Morwenna in half an hour. I would really like to, though, honestly. Maybe another time?”

“We could have Sunday lunch tomorrow?” She was surprised, and extremely pleased, that he’d want to see her again so soon, but he obviously took her hesitation the wrong way . “It’s only that you’re going to be busy again when _Dracula_ resumes and I’ve got a lot coming up – “

“I’d love to.” He really did have the nicest smile.  


	7. Chapter 7

“Did you read the email from the Box Office? Another Christmas matinee sold out!” Rosina peeped over the top of her computer, an excited grin on her face.

  
“I did. They’re doing really well.” George allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. Although the Company’s Christmas show already had a few matinee performances, he had suggested adding an extra few especially aimed at children, with discounts offered for schools and other groups. There were other performances in the Hall over the season, concerts and a pantomime and suchlike, but there had still been a few open daytime spots. The Hall management hadn’t needed any convincing – more bums on seats meant more money for them, too.

  
The excellent reception for _Rodeo_ and _Dracula_ had helped _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ sell tickets apace. Even the more obscure de Valois duo had sold well. According to Rosina, the current season had already seen a 10% increase in those becoming ‘friends’ of the company – those who paid an annual membership in return for reduced ticket prices and invitations to special performances.

  
George was under no illusions that this was all down to him – he hadn’t been here that long, for one thing – but he had been pleased to be able to identify some ways they could improve. Rosina had done a fantastic job with the social media – it wasn’t something George was especially interested in personally, but even the bank had employed a social media manager.

  
He’d only suggested the additional matinees because he’d known full well they would sell out – he’d checked the records and last year’s Christmas show had been oversubscribed. The show had originally been budgeted to cover costs, so extra performances would generate more revenue to be put back into future productions. Demands for tickets to the Company’s shows had actually been rising steadily for quite a while, which was all down to Francis’ hard work. The Company’s talents spoke for themselves, all that was really needed was some more organised management.

  
“So is the Minack Theatre finalised?”

  
“Yes, the Company is officially booked in for two weekends in June – eight performances, including matinees . Francis, Anne and Ellen are going down there for a visit at some point soon so they can start thinking about staging – and then I can start budgeting!”

  
“How’s that going for the rest of the season?” It was very early days but if there was one thing George had been able to transfer to this job from his last it was the importance of planning ahead. _Marie Antoinette_ and _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ were likely to be quite expensive, requiring more elaborate staging and costumes, going by the paperwork he had pulled from previous, similar productions. He was still getting used to all the details, but he was starting to feel a little more confident in his knowledge. Working in investments, he’d had to read up on quite an array of things over the years. Ballet at least had the advantage of being a lot more interesting than most of them.

  
“We’ve made a good start.”

  
“Good…When do you think we’ll be able to start advertising?”

  
“Not until early next year, I imagine, but that’s up to the creative team and the Hall management, really. Next time Francis comes in ask him to make sure you’re CC’d in on everything and then you can deal with the Box Office re the social media when the time comes.”

  
“Can I just say…” Rosina chewed her lip, thoughtfully. “Can I just say thank you for giving me this job to do. It’s really – I’m really enjoying it.” 

  
“You’re really good at it, as well.” Rosina picked up her handbag and rummaged in it to hide her blush.

  
“Well, I’m going to take my lunch, do you want anything from the sandwich shop?”

  
“No, I’m, er, I actually have plans….” He tried to say it as casually as possible, pretending to be very interested in reconciling the Company bank account.

  
“Oh, meeting Elizabeth?” Rosina grinned as she headed out the door. “Have fun!”

  
With a sigh, George shook his head. He and Elizabeth had tried to be discreet about seeing each other, but it had been completely hopeless in a ballet company full of perpetual gossips. It was only a couple of weeks since that first date, but they’d met up a few more times since, including that Sunday lunch the following day. Elizabeth had taken him to a fantastic pub where he’d eaten some of the most delicious roast beef he’d ever had in his life. Since they’d both been busy, and _Dracula_ had been in full swing, they’d been limited to a couple of coffees and one late supper after a performance. He’d driven her home afterwards, and for a moment as she’d glanced back at her door, he’d wondered if she was going to invite him in. She hadn’t, but in light of the way she’d kissed him before she got out of the car, he hadn’t been at all disappointed. He glanced at the clock – 12:35. The dancers would be breaking for lunch soon. As if on cue, his phone buzzed.

  
~

  
“So, Francis told the company about your Minack idea.” Elizabeth smiled, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. They were in the Hall café; it was busy today, filled with mothers with pushchairs, artists based at the Hall, and a few schoolchildren enjoying their half-term holidays.

  
“He mentioned me specifically?”

  
“Of course! It was your idea, after all. Besides, he doesn’t want to take the blame if we all get rained on!” She laughed, a lock of hair failing out of her bun over her face. Without thinking, he reached across the table and gently pushed it back behind her ear. She glanced down, biting her lip and then smiled. George couldn’t help but smile back – she really was incredibly beautiful, glowing with her morning’s exercise. “Seriously, though, it is a wonderful idea. I’m really looking forward to performing there. When I was with the English National, we performed outside at Somerset House; it was really lovely.”

  
“And did it rain?”

  
“Yes it did, as it happens. It was quite fun!”

  
“What was the ballet?”

  
“ _Macbeth_ , so it really worked, actually!” They both laughed. Abruptly, Elizabeth frowned a little. “Listen, George…”

  
“Hello!” Morwenna dropped herself into the chair between them, trying and failing to steal a crisp from Elizabeth’s plate. “Having a nice lunch?”

  
“We were…” Elizabeth gave Morwenna a look, which her cousin gleefully ignored, glancing between the two of them with a smile. “By which I mean…shove off.”

  
“Rude.” But with another grin, she picked up her bag and disappeared off towards the company’s wing. Elizabeth watched her go and then shook her head with a smile.

  
“Honestly! I blame Caroline, she’s a terrible influence.”

  
“I’m sure Caroline would be happy to agree with that assessment.” He paused. “Were you going to say something, before?”

  
“Yes. You know _Dracula_ closes this week, and then we’ve got a few days before the final prep for de Valois. So…I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner on Saturday.” George frowned. Elizabeth looked oddly nervous about asking him this, but he couldn’t imagine why.  
“Of course I would.”

  
“At mine.” She added, softly. Ah.

  
“Well, then, I definitely would.”


	8. Chapter 8

Elizabeth couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so nervous before a date….Well, maybe before her first date with George. Of course, that had been her first date in ages, despite Caroline’s best efforts. Her previous relationship hadn’t exactly left her with a great desire to get back in the dating pool with any haste. Until now, that is.

She hadn’t cooked for anyone in she couldn’t remember how long. Well, unless she counted making cheese toasties for herself and Morwenna when they had a movie night. When the other girls came around, they usually ordered in. Anything she made for herself was usually very quick and simple.

So, she’d spent most of Thursday (after waking up late following the _Dracula_ closing night party) Googling recipes, and then a good hour or so on Friday dithering in Waitrose. In desperation, she’d bought the ingredients for a few possibilities and texted Caroline for advice.

_Chicken and mushroom tagliatelle, paella or fish pie?_

> _I think you’re probably fine with anything that doesn’t have garlic._
> 
> _More importantly, what are you wearing?_

_I haven’t decided yet, probably just a skirt and top._

> _Yes, but what about under that? :P_

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation.

_You are no help whatsoever!_

Finally, she’d decided on the pasta, and went back on Saturday morning to buy a lemon mousse to go with it. Annoyingly, Caroline was a tiny bit right – she had also gone out and bought some new lingerie. Maybe it was being just a bit presumptive, but she hadn’t missed the look in George’s eye when she’d emphasised that she wanted them to have dinner at hers; and she certainly hadn’t misinterpreted his reaction when, at the _Dracula_ party, she had led him away into a quiet corridor and kissed him. The way he’d pressed her against the wall, his hand sliding up her side… Remembering it made her shiver.

She managed to push away her nerves while preparing the ingredients, focusing on chopping and measuring. However, when she was standing in front of her open wardrobe – having left her pasta sauce gently simmering on the hob – the nerves came back in full. Along with throwing dinner parties, dressing up was something else Elizabeth didn’t do very often. When she was working, she lived in leggings and dancewear; the rest of the time she preferred jeans and comfy jumpers. Her few party dresses weren’t really the right thing for tonight, she felt. Just as her sauce was getting close to setting-on she impulsively grabbed a soft, cap-sleeved, blush pink top which left a couple of inches of bare skin above the waistband of her skirt. The colour suited her, and the outfit flattered her figure. If only she’d picked it out half an hour earlier…

She was just boiling the water for the pasta when the buzzer went. 7:30, exactly the time they’d agreed. Elizabeth really didn’t know what it said about her that George’s excellent time-keeping was one of the things she found very attractive about him. When she opened the door, he was holding a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers; he started to hand them to her, but stopped, his eyes widening slightly.

“Wow, Elizabeth, you look…amazing.” 

~

The dinner turned out very well, if she did say so herself. George complimented her on the food, and even asked for seconds, the hint of a cheeky smile on his face. They lingered over the dessert and the wine; the conversation flowed as easily as it had on all of their other dates, but there was an invisible undercurrent, a note of tension…of anticipation. Both of them knew where this night was heading, what Elizabeth’s intention had been in inviting him here, but it was almost as if they drawing it out somehow. Elizabeth was, in a way, certainly not because she was having second thoughts. It had been a while since…well, and she didn’t want to rush into anything.

It would certainly be easy to. George looked very handsome in his dark red perfectly tailored shirt, more so as the wine and the late hour relaxed her. The way he’d looked at her when he’d arrived had made her draw a breath, but it was nothing compared to how his intent gaze was making her feel now.

“Coffee?” She asked, aware of a slight hitch in her voice. George coughed slightly, glancing down, a hint of a blush colouring his cheeks. That did not help her at all.

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Why don’t you – er – why don’t you take a seat on the sofa?”

“Oh, okay.” She heard his footsteps on the carpet as she busied herself with the coffee machine. “Oh, I like this!”

“What? – “ She glanced back to see him looking at her picture collage. With a smile, she went back to pouring. “Oh that…I made a little collection of photos when I was at RBS, for homesickness you know, and it’s just kept growing over the years.”

“It’s nice. Really nice.” There was a touch of wistfulness in his voice which made her wonder. She carried over their coffees, setting them gently on the table before kicking off her shoes and sitting down, tucking her feet under her. George smiled at her, almost shyly. He picked up his coffee, letting it cool for a moment and then taking a sip. There was a short silence and Elizabeth couldn’t help a little laugh bubbling out of her, making George look at her in surprise.

“I’m sorry, I – just – I feel like I’m out of practice at this sort of thing. It’s – “ she bit her lip. “It’s been a while.”

“If you want me to go – “

“No! No, I definitely don’t want that.” She shifted closer on the sofa, meeting his gaze. His eyes were so blue. “Completely the opposite in fact.”

“Oh.” Gently, he rested his hand on her knee. The effect of that light touch through the material of her skirt was incredible, and she let out a shaky breath. She covered his hand with hers, stroking the back of it gently before intertwining their fingers. Their eyes met again, and she leant forward slowly, George coming to meet her. It was almost as if it was their first kiss, it was so electric, and she sighed into it. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, even that slight caress making her shiver. The way she was sitting, she couldn’t get close enough to him and she hummed in frustration. Eventually, they had to pull back to breathe, but neither of them went far. When George spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur. “It’s been a while for me, too.”

Without replying, Elizabeth stood, George never taking his eyes off her as she did. Wordlessly, she held out her hand; he took it, rising to his feet and let her lead him towards the bedroom. There was no more hesitation now; she turned towards him at the foot of the bed, sliding her arms around his neck as she pulled him close for another kiss, relishing the press of their bodies together at last. He rested one hand on her hip, slowing stroking upwards to brush the bare skin above her waistband; his fingertips caressed the small of her back and she moaned. God, if just that touch could have this effect on her she could only imagine what more would be like….

It took quite surprising amount of effort to slide her hands down his chest and undo the buttons of his shirt. He sighed softly when she stroked the skin over his collarbone. Elizabeth pulled back slightly, and George reached up to brush her hair off her face.

“Yes?” He whispered. Elizabeth pressed a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.  

“Yes.”


	9. Chapter 9

George stretched, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed. Reaching over to the other side, he frowned at finding it empty. He sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes, and looked around.

“Elizabeth?” He couldn’t hear the shower running, or any other movement. Where was she? Had she had some sort of emergency? No, she would have woken him, surely? His eye caught on something white on the bedside table. Rolling over, he found it was a piece of paper which had slipped half under the base of the lamp. In Elizabeth’s softly swirling handwriting, and signed with a kiss, it was a note:

_Gone for coffee! Back soon x_

George smiled. They’d gone for a late Sunday lunch – or early dinner – after yesterday’s de Valois matinee, and then come back to his flat for ‘dessert’. The thought brought another smile to his face, as well as reminding him of one or two very pleasant aches. A trip to the bathroom seemed to be in order, although it was with some reluctance that he dragged himself out from under the warm Elizabeth-scented duvet.

“I’m back! Are you awake yet?” He’d actually managed a quick shower while she was out, and was sitting on the bed reading the papers on his phone. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long, the place was heaving! I should have thought, really – Monday morning rush – oh.”

“What?” He looked up. She’d made a somewhat disappointed noise when she entered the bedroom, two cups of coffee in a little tray in her hand. She’d slipped one of his sweatshirts on with her jeans and it hung slightly over to one side, exposing the curve of her shoulder in a very distracting way.

“Well…” Elizabeth put the coffees down on the sideboard and kicked off her shoes, before getting onto the bed on her hands and knees. “I was sort of hoping you would be exactly where I left you.”

“Oh, yes?” he asked, leaning forward to meet her, barely inches between them. “Why’s that?”

“So that I could have…woken you up.” She licked her lips, a sight which made George temporarily forget how to speak.

“Hh – “ was all he managed.

“But nevermind.” Elizabeth took both of his hands in hers and slid them up under the sweatshirt, confirming that wore nothing underneath. George took a shaky breath. “There’s still plenty of time for that.”

It was disgracefully close to lunchtime when they eventually emerged from the bedroom, George feeling incredibly thankful that he’d chosen to work yesterday and have today off. Their coffees had ended up going completely to waste, stone cold by the time they weren’t otherwise occupied.

“It was a very nice thought,” George said soothingly when Elizabeth pouted a little as she poured them away.

“Your fault for distracting me,” she teased, and he couldn’t help but kiss her.

“Do you want to get something to eat?” he asked, when their lips parted. “Or have you had enough of me?”

“Never,” she smiled. “I’d love to, only I think I should change.”

George waited in the car outside Elizabeth’s flat while she got changed, citing a desire to avoid temptation, which earned him a cheeky grin and a torturously lingering kiss before she hurried away into the building. She returned impressively quickly, giving him another quick peck.

They drove out to a lovely country pub, the friendly waitress seating them at a snug table next to gently crackling fire, which was very welcome in the crisp November weather. He helped Elizabeth out of her coat, revealing a fitted jumper dress in a soft petrol-blue colour. It looked incredibly good on her; she noticed his look and glanced down, blushing slightly, which was especially endearing considering what they had been doing not long ago. He’d thought she was incredibly beautiful from the first moment they met, but sometimes she took his breath away.

Their legs tangled under the small table when he returned with their drinks, and Elizabeth smiled at him over the top of her menu.  

“Actually, I think it was a mistake coming here – the food is so delicious, but I shouldn’t eat too much since I’m back in rehearsals first thing tomorrow!”

“Surely you need your energy?”

“What? Since I’m so worn out after last night? And this morning?”

“No, I didn’t – “ But she laughed, shaking her head.

“I’m only teasing! Although I must say I _have_ worked up an appetite…Perhaps I should build up my strength, especially if you’re going to come back to mine this afternoon?” That question went straight to a very primal part of George’s mind. No matter now nice the food was, he was going to have a lot of trouble concentrating on it. 

~

A couple of audience members ooh’d and ah’d as Elizabeth’s and Hugh’s swords clashed, the sounds of the props impressively realistic. In their roles as the Black Queen and the Red Knight respectively, their climactic _pas de deux_ took the form of a duel. This was George’s fourth time seeing it, and it was captivating every time – not entirely due to Elizabeth, either. The staging of the chess-themed piece was stunning, and George was certainly not alone in thinking so.

He could anticipate the reaction to each moment – breaths held as the Knight presented the Queen with a rose, the symbol of his love despite their battle. The pause as he turned away and then – a collective gasp of shock when Elizabeth thrust her sword into Hugh’s back; the Queen’s betrayal. The triumph of death over love, culminating in Malcolm’s Red King cowering at Elizabeth’s feet. In her pure black costume, she was magnificent the lights casting her into shadow for a moment as she raised her sword to deliver the _coup de grace_. With impeccable timing, the stage was plunged into darkness at the exact moment she began to stab downwards.

By the time the lights came back up, the cast were lined up at the front of the stage, Elizabeth holding the hands of her ‘victims’. The audience clapped and cheered enthusiastically and she smiled her beautiful smile as she took her bow. He watched her look out over the crowd towards the back of the auditorium – she knew he was there, although the lights would obscure him from her view.

He slipped out before the curtain fell for the interval – the audience would return for the second of the two de Valois ballets: _Bar aux Folies-Bergere_. However, George wasn’t here for that – he’d seen it twice already and, as artistically impressive as it was, it lacked one very important element: Elizabeth.

“Hello, you.” Margaret greeted him with grin when he entered the backstage area. She was lounging on a chair in the corridor, already in her can-can dancer’s costume. “Hey, Elizabeth! Your No. 1 fan is here!”

A door further along opened and Elizabeth stuck her head out, making a rude gesture at Margaret, who laughed delightedly in response, before turning to smile at George, opening the door wider in invitation. He glanced back at Margaret as he entered, frowning at her suggestive eyebrow raise. As soon as Elizabeth closed the door, she pulled him in for a kiss, and then giggled as she wiped off the stage make-up she’d smeared on his face.

“Sorry! Let me get this all off and then I’ll get changed.” As Elizabeth wasn’t appearing in _Folies-Bergere_ she didn’t need to stay for the rest of the night, although she often did – either to watch from the side of the stage, or to socialise with the other dancers afterwards. Tonight, however, they were going somewhere special.

George had debated with himself for about a week about asking Elizabeth if she would like to go away together for a couple of nights. He’d got the idea when he’d found out from Francis that the dancers were going to have a few days free between runs of the de Valois, to give them a break since they were also in rehearsals for the Christmas show. But was it too soon? They’d only been seeing each other for a little over two months. He already knew he had strong feelings for her, but he didn’t know if she felt the same, although he could certainly tell she liked him.

In the end, he’d decided to bite the bullet and ask her. If she thought it was rushing into things, she would say so. However, she’d reacted with excitement, actually clapping her hands in delight when he’d told her their destination was a surprise.

“So, are you going to even give me a hint?” Elizabeth glanced at him in the reflection of her mirror as she wiped off her greasepaint. She pouted when he shook his head, making him smile. “Not fair.”

“You’ll see when we get there! It’s not far; you might have even been there already, for all I know. I’m the newcomer around here, remember?”

“Fine. I suppose I’ll just have to be patient….Here, help me with this will you?” She stood and came to stand with her back to him. The fastenings of her costume were half-undone, exposing most of her bare back. George undid the rest, knowing that she must be able to manage perfectly well herself. When he was finished she wriggled out of the whole thing, leaving her standing in only her knickers; wrapping her arms around herself she peeked at him over her shoulder and he groaned.

“I’m still not telling you anything.”

“Damn.” She laughed.

“Still,” he murmured, trailing fingertips up her spine in a way he knew made her shiver, “very cruel to you to have me undress you when we’re not going to be alone together for who knows how long….”

She gave him a wry smile, amused by having the tables turned on her, before hurrying to get dressed. He had made one concession to a hint by telling her to dress smart-casually for their arrival.

“Enjoy your dirty weekend!” Morwenna called down the corridor as they were on their way out, earning her the same gesture as Margaret, which she likewise found highly amusing.

“She’s always been a pain in the arse,” Elizabeth muttered, and George chuckled, knowing she didn’t mean a word of it. He’d seen how close the cousins were.

It was a beautiful night, cold but crisp and Elizabeth even wound down the window slightly when they were out on the road, the breeze catching her hair a little.

“So,” she began. “I’ve got to dress fairly smartly, and you told me to bring something to wear for dinner _and_ my swimwear…”

“Just wait, will you!” She laughed delightedly, only teasing. It didn’t take them long to get there, as it happened, since the hotel was at Fistral Beach, just over 10 miles away. Just under half an hour after leaving the theatre, they were pulling up outside.

“Oh George, it’s lovely! I’ve seen this place in _Cornish Life_ and I thought it looked so lovely.”

“Well, I hope it lives up to expectations.”

Judging by her reaction to their room, it certainly did. Since it was the off-season – and not actually the weekend, despite what Morwenna had said – he’d managed to get an ocean view suite, and for a surprisingly good price. It had a balcony which looked straight out to sea over the beach, a very large, very plush-looking bed…and its own private hot tub.

“Hmm, I see what the swimwear’s for. Although, since we’re going to be only ones here, I’m not sure that my bikini’s actually necessary…” She bit her lip, raising her eyebrows, and George busied himself with putting their suitcases away. It wasn’t long before they were booked in for dinner. With a laugh, Elizabeth flung open the doors to the balcony, letting in a blast of cold, salt-smelling air. After a moment, he followed her outside, shrugging his jacket tighter around himself. “Oh, George, it really is so beautiful. Thank you so much for bringing here.”

She leant forward and kissed him softly, smiling affectionately at him when she pulled back, before turning away to take in the view again. He looked at her in profile, the soft light from room glowing on her skin, the wind pulling at the strands of hair which had escaped her scarf, and suddenly came to a very big realisation – he didn’t just have strong feelings for Elizabeth, he had fallen in love with her.


	10. Chapter 10

Elizabeth returned from their little stay away feeling incredibly relaxed and contented. The hotel was beautiful, quite possibly one of the most romantic places she had ever been in her life – and not merely because of its location. After a truly wonderful dinner on the first evening, their table leant a lovely privacy by the soft draping decorating the restaurant, they’d discovered just how comfortable the suite was, but it was the second day which had been the most special. A leisurely breakfast in bed, followed by an enjoyably windswept walk on the beach. Thanks to the season, they’d had the sands almost entirely to themselves; George had looked especially handsome with his hair tousled by the wind. She’d been completely unable to resist kissing him, until they’d been splattered by a rogue ocean spray, causing them to run away laughing like children.

During their light lunch at the bar, George had surprised her with an appointment for a hot stone massage in the afternoon. When she’d returned to the room, she’d been amused to find him checking work emails on his phone, and teasingly chastised him.

“Didn’t you want a massage?”

“Oh, I don’t know if it’s the sort of thing I would like.” Elizabeth had frowned as this.

“You mean, you’ve never had one?”

“No,” he’d looked adorably embarrassed by this admission.

“Well, I think I should fix that.”

Later – rather a lot later – they’d had dinner in the room, accompanied by the beautiful moonlit view of crashing waves. Elizabeth did wear her bikini when they finally tested out the hot tub, although much to George’s obvious appreciation, she eventually discarded the top. Afterwards, he’d lain her down on the bed, pressing her into the mattress, and when he’d kissed her, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy.

Returning home was almost a shock to the system. She’d felt oddly lonely lying in her own bed, George having gone back to his flat after he’d dropped her off.

“So, someone had a good time….” Demelza grinned at her from the changing room bench the following morning when Elizabeth arrived for rehearsals.

“Yes, I did.” Elizabeth was aware she was putting her things away with rather exaggerated casualness, something which had not gone unnoticed by her colleagues.

“I’ll say. You’re practically floating.”

“Oh, shut up.” Demelza laughed before suddenly adopting a slightly more pensive expression. “Listen, there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you….”

“Whatever Caroline’s put you up to – “

“No! It’s not to do with you and George, as much as I’d love to press you for details.” Demelza glanced around as if making sure no one was listening. “It’s actually about Morwenna.”

“Morwenna? What about her?” Elizabeth frowned.

“Is she seeing anyone that you know of?” Elizabeth hadn’t known what to expect from this line of conversation, but that certainly hadn’t been it.

“Er, she hasn’t said so if she is. Why?”

“Well, it’s actually my brother, Drake. He broke up with this girl a while back – I didn’t like her, to be honest, but that’s not the point – and he’s been on his own since. He’s just a couple of years older than Morwenna and I think they’d really get on. Do you think she’d be offended if I suggested introducing them?”

“You’d have to ask her, but I don’t think so.” Just then, Caroline appeared, and Elizabeth was about to make a joke about her rubbing off on Demelza when she noticed that her friend did not look her usual self. Caroline was rather wan, her usually smiling mouth angled downwards. “Caroline? Are you all right?”

“She’s not well,” Demelza answered for her. “I said so at Pilates yesterday, but she won’t admit it.”

“Just – “ Caroline coughed. “Just a bit of a sore throat. I’m probably getting a cold, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” Elizabeth wasn’t convinced, but Caroline was stubborn enough that pressing her wouldn’t do any good.

“Look, never mind my silly tickle. Tell me all about your romantic getaway, Elizabeth.” Caroline tried to smile, but it was unconvincing. Before Elizabeth could answer, Keren stuck her head around the door to say they were getting started, and Caroline hurried into her practice gear.

It became increasingly obvious throughout the day that Caroline was not just getting a cold – she was off her game, as much as she was trying to put a brave face on it. Elizabeth noticed Francis and Anne exchanging concerned glances,  as were a few of the other dancers. She also saw Caroline massaging her throat when she thought no one was looking.

Eventually, Elizabeth decided she’d had enough. During a break, Caroline took a drink of water and almost choked on it, coughing horribly and struggling to clear her throat.

“Right, that’s it. You’re going to see Dwight. Come on.” Not giving her any choice, Elizabeth hauled Caroline up by the arm.

“But – “

“But nothing. If you’ve just got a cold, he’ll say so, but I really don’t think you have.” She looked a Caroline beseechingly. “To put my mind at rest, at least. Please?”

“Okay.” That Caroline acquiesced without a sarcastic remark or a sardonic quirk of an eyebrow only convinced Elizabeth even more that something was properly wrong.

Dwigh was in his office when they arrived, and greeted them with a friendly smile, looking especially pleased to see Caroline, Elizabeth noted. With a bit of prompting, Caroline explained her symptoms – chiefly a terrible pain in her throat and the sensation that she couldn’t clear it properly.

“Are you struggling to breathe?”

“No, but deep breaths make the pain worse sometimes.”

“Any other pain in the mouth?”

“No.”

“And you don’t smoke?”

“No!”

“Sorry, I have to ask.” Elizabeth wasn’t surprised. Quite a lot of dancers smoked, in her experience. Some did it to lose weight, some as stress relief. There were a few at the South West, although the disapproving looks Francis gave them every time she saw them on a cigarette break had convinced a few to cut down.

“Well, I don’t.”

“All right, let’s take a look. Open your mouth, please.” Looking unusually awkward, Caroline did as she was asked, studiously avoiding looking at either Dwight or Elizabeth as the doctor shone his penlight at her throat. “Caroline…When did you last east fish?”

“Fish?” Caroline frowned, still massaging her neck. “A couple of days ago. But I’m not allergic.”

“No, but you should maybe think twice about going back to that restaurant. Open up again, please.” He rummaged about in a drawer for a moment before producing a pair of tweezers. Elizabeth watched in confused fascination as he gently extended them into Caroline’s mouth and, with a small tug, extracted…a fish bone. Caroline stared at it in disbelief before suddenly starting to laugh. Soon, all three of them were chuckling.

“Well, that’s embarrassing.”

“Not at all.” Dwight and Caroline smiled at each other for a moment, and Elizabeth felt a slow smile creep across her face. Well, that was interesting. The doctor coughed and shuffled some papers on his desk. “I’ll, er, I’ll go and make up some salt water. You can gargle with some now, and then every morning and night for the next couple of days, just to make sure there’s no infection, although that’s unlikely.”

Elizabeth sat down next to Caroline after he left, and Caroline laughed again.

“A fishbone! Oh my God.”

“Aren’t you glad I dragged you down here now? And not just because Dwight fixed your throat?” Caroline gave her a sideways glance. From that alone, Elizabeth could tell she felt better.

“Actually, I believe we have some unfinished business. You never told me about your little romantic break. So, come on, details.”

“It was very nice.”

“Very nice? Is that it?! Certainly not, judging by that blush.” Elizabeth tutted and Caroline smiled. “Seriously, though, I’m really happy you enjoyed it. Things are getting serious between you and George, aren’t they?”

“Yeah….” Elizabeth felt odd suddenly, frowning to herself as Dwight returned. “Yeah, it is….”

~

Caroline’s observation continued to bother her for a few days afterwards, niggling at doubts Elizabeth thought that she’d put aside. She’d had her concerns about getting involved with someone again – especially someone she worked with – when George first asked her out, but had found her attraction to him overwhelmed them. However, they now seemed to have come back in full force.

They _were_ getting serious, and after just over a couple of months. Even before their little trip away, they’d been spending more and more time together and Elizabeth had been feeling herself falling…No, she couldn’t think like that.

It was nothing to do with George – he was kind, and interesting, hiding a gentle, surprisingly funny side of himself behind his quite serious demeanour at first meeting. He was also handsome, as well as a very good kisser…among other things.

That was the trouble, she liked him a lot. More than a lot. But she was concerned that maybe they were rushing into things, getting in too deep, too quickly. She’d been burned that way before, and she didn’t want that again; she didn’t want it for George, either.

Conflicted about her feelings, she began to avoid him a little, the combination of the final set of de Valois performances and preparations for _Lion_ offering the perfect excuse. He’d accepted her claiming to be tired after a day of rehearsals or that she was going to have late supper with Morwenna after a performance – not a lie, but Elizabeth had set it up so as to have a reason not to see him. She’d pushed her food around her plate and refused to admit to her clearly suspicious cousin that anything was wrong.

She’d endeavoured to focus on her work, and her performances had been as good as ever, but Morwenna wasn’t the only one who noticed she was off personally. Hugh had asked her more than once if she was okay after a performance, but accepted her excuse that she was just tired.

After a few days she was feeling increasingly guilty about the way she was treating George. He didn’t deserve to be given the cold shoulder like this. Although he hadn’t said anything, she’d heard confusion and disappointment in his voice earlier that day when he’d called to ask her if she wanted to meet for lunch and she’d made yet another excuse.

Sitting at home that night, she reached for her phone and video called Verity, hoping that her friend wasn’t busy. She knew the Scottish Ballet were on a short break before their Christmas show: _Cinderella_. Verity was playing the Fairy Godmother. After a few rings, Verity’s face appeared on the screen, smiling.

“Hello! This is a nice surprise. How are you?”

“Fine.” Now that Verity asked, Elizabeth found she wasn’t sure how to put it into words, even though Verity would certainly understand.

“How’s George? I’ve been meaning to call him. Francis says he’s been doing a great job! Oh, is he with you?” Verity glanced around as if she could see out of the side of the screen.

“No, we’ve both been busy.” Elizabeth had told Verity that she and George had been seeing each other, but not all of the details. She hadn’t been expecting Verity to mention him first, and it threw her. Before she could say anymore, there was a male voice in the background, and Verity looked away for a moment, saying something indistinct.

“Sorry about that.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise you had company.” Now that she looked properly, she could see Verity was a bit more dressed up than might be expected for a Thursday night at home.

“No, it’s – er – it’s just Ross. He’s visiting for a couple of days since we’ll both be working at Christmas. We were going to go out for supper.” Oh. That was the last thing Elizabeth had expected Verity to say. Ross Poldark was Verity and Francis’ cousin. He’d also been a pupil at the Royal Ballet School with them – and, for several years, Elizabeth’s boyfriend. The reason why she was now feeling so hesitant about her relationship with George.

“Oh, sorry, Verity, I’ll let you go. We can talk another time.”

“No – “

“No, really, it’s fine. Enjoy your supper!” With her false note of cheerfulness, she ended the call. Hearing Verity mention Ross, knowing he was there in the room with her, had brought back everything she’d been pushing away these last couple of years, and increased all of her doubts tenfold. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone, pulling up George’s number.

_I think we need to talk._


	11. Chapter 11

“Did you get a chance to look over the quote from the advertising agency? George? George?”

“Hmm – oh, er, yes. It doesn’t look too bad, but it never hurts to get an alternative. As for the art, though, that’s your department.”

“Are you okay?” Francis frowned at him in concern and George looked away. “You’ve been very distracted recently.”

“Just busy is all.” It was true enough – early preparations for next season were well underway, and the company’s accounts were due shortly. He hadn’t much experience with charities so it had been a bit of a steep learning curve, but he was getting to grips with it. Frankly, the work had been a God send, since it distracted him from what was actually bothering him.

“Elizabeth all right?” It was as if Francis had read his mind. George was on the edge of snapping that Francis could ask her himself, since they were rehearsing for _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ , but he held back. None of this was Francis’ fault, and shouting at him wouldn’t help.

“She’s fine.” Elizabeth probably was fine. She’d been the one who’d ended it, after all. He’d had a bad feeling as soon as he’d received her text saying they had to talk, especially as it came after over a week of her quite obviously trying to avoid him. Following on the heels of what he’d thought had been their blissful few days away together, it had confused him.

He’d worried before asking her that it was rushing into things, but her acceptance of his invitation had led him to believe she didn’t think so. However, that seemed to be exactly the problem if he was reading between the lines correctly.

They’d met for coffee at an impersonal chain place a few streets away from the Hall, Elizabeth looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” He’d known it was a stupid question as he was asking it but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything else, an increasing sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“No, it’s just…I think we should… _shouldn’t_ see each other for a while. Just…have some space.” It was both pretty much what he’d expected and a horrific blow. There were a hundred things he wanted to blurt out – why? What had happened? What had he done? How could he make it right? But he hadn’t said any of that.

“Well, if – if that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s for the best.” The pained silence which followed had been absolutely torturous, and George had quickly made an excuse, nearly knocking over his chair in his rush to stand. Elizabeth looked like she was about to speak, but he’d walked away, taking several deep breaths as he did.

He hadn’t seen her since, save a brief glimpse along the corridor. Their eyes met for a moment, but she’d turned away almost instantly. Every day of the final few performances of _Checkmate_ he’d left the office at dead on 5:30, so as to resist the temptation to go and watch her dance. He made an excuse not to attend the closing party, which had clearly made Rosina suspicious, but she had blessedly chosen not to say anything.

When he’d spoken to one or two of the dancers, chiefly Caroline and Morwenna, he’d sensed an odd note. They were Elizabeth’s best friends, so even if she hadn’t told them about breaking it off, they certainly suspected. Neither of them had said anything directly, and he’d mostly done his best to cut their conversations short without seeming rude.

After the end of the de Valois duo, he’d taken to working late, hours more like he’d been doing at the family firm than what was expected from him at the Company. Work occupied him, while being back at the flat allowed him to dwell on how wretched he felt, as well as think too much about Elizabeth. About her sleeping in his bed, drinking from his coffee cups, wearing his shirts.

It was his own stupid fault. They’d only met – what – three months ago? Yet he’d gone and let the whirlwind romance of it all go to his head like he was a love struck teenager. Of course, it was obvious why anyone would fall in love with Elizabeth, but he’d just dived in head first and, clearly, he’d come on too strong and frightened her away.

Another one to add to his short and decidedly unsweet list of romantic disasters. Except this one really hurt. He’d come to Cornwall to find something missing in his life – he’d found it, along with something he hadn’t even realised he’d been looking for, which had made him happier than he could ever have imagined.

He’d found it, and now he’d lost it.  

~

Time passed, _Lion_ debuted to rave reviews – Morwenna was even pictured in her role on the front page of _The Cornish Times_ – Christmas decorations went up around town, and George felt no better at all.

Unable to resist, he’d sat in on a performance of _Lion_. It really was a wonderful production, but he’d been unable to concentrate on anything but Elizabeth. She was playing a relatively small part, that of the Professor’s housekeeper, but even in her severe 1940s costume she was enchanting. He left just as the curtain fell, making sure he’d be gone long before the dancers.

One day, on his way back from Ellen’s office, he’d almost run right into Elizabeth. For a moment, they stood looking at each other. He clamped his lips shut against the stream of undoubtedly horribly embarrassing things he wanted to say to her, as she bit her lip glancing side to side awkwardly, like she couldn’t wait to escape. Thankfully, Dwight had appeared, breaking the tension, and George was able to make an excuse and leave.

The onslaught of cheery music and festive décor which greeted him just about everywhere except his flat – Rosina had even put up a little Christmas tree in the corner of their office, which he hadn’t had the heart to object to – did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. Just before Elizabeth had withdrawn from him, he’d been planning to book a special Christmas dinner for them. He’d found the brochures for the local restaurants and hotels in a drawer in his flat and stared at them miserably for a while before crossly shaking himself and throwing them out.

It seemed the whole company knew about him and Elizabeth breaking up. He was being treated with exaggerated friendliness by just about everyone, and people kept dropping by ‘just to say hello’ or invite him for a drink or coffee. Nobody seemed to hold anything against him, but of course Elizabeth wasn’t the sort of person to slag him off to all and sundry. He didn’t think he’d given her anything to slag him off about, at least he sincerely hoped not.

“Oh, your dad called.” That had been absolutely the last thing he’d expected Rosina to say when he returned from buying the one not-cranberry-enhanced panini offered in the coffee shop this time of year.

“My – my dad? Is that what he said?”

“Well, his exact words were something like: This is Nicholas Warleggan, I’m George’s father.” That sounded more like him.

“Did he say what he wanted?” George hadn’t spoken to his father or uncle since he’d stormed out of Nicholas’ office and, as stubbornness was one of the few things he had in common with them, he’d expected their stalemate to continue for quite some time.

“No, just said would you call him back.”

“I’ll do it when I get home.” Rosina looked a bit surprised at this, but didn’t question it. By what she’d told him, she had a very good relationship with her father, so George’s apparent disinterest probably seemed something of an anathema to her.

George debated not calling, but he didn’t think his father would call if he didn’t have a good reason. After a microwave dinner and staring disinterestedly at the television for an hour or so he finally picked up the phone. He called the office first, and right enough, Nicholas picked up on the second ring.

“Warleggan.”

“Dad, it’s George.”

“Oh, finally deigned to call me back, have you?”

“I was busy this afternoon.”

“Doing what? Collecting ticket stubs?” George gritted his teeth. His father was getting more like Cary as the years went by, and it did nothing for him. Nor for George’s relationship with him.

“Did you want something?” The faster he could get this conversation to the point, the better.

“I thought I’d better ask if you’re coming home for Christmas.”

“What?” That threw him completely. After his mum died, they’d never been much for family gatherings, not even at Christmas. One or two rather strained dinners over the years had been about it. The rest George had spent working or sitting alone at home. He’d hoped to spend this one with Elizabeth, or at least some of it, since he assumed she visited her family as well. That was out of the question now, of course. “Do you want me to?”

“Suit yourself.” Typical response. “Although, more pressingly, I was wondering if you were finally going to come to your senses and take your old job back.”

“What?” He’d said that twice in a few minutes but frankly he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Look,” Nicholas sighed. “You’ve been with the firm since you were still at university. I did often wonder if you’d want to…spread your wings a bit, but I’ll admit I didn’t expect you to go off and work for some dance troupe.”

“They’re not – “

“But surely you’ve got it out of your system now? You can come back to the firm, no hard feelings.” George’s first instinct was a flat refusal, not to mention anger at Nicholas’ dismissive, high-handed attitude, but then a little voice whispered in his ear. If he went back to London, then he’d be making a clean break from Elizabeth and he could put the whole thing behind him. He’d never admit to his father or his uncle that the reason he came back was a failed romance, of course, but they’d likely not ask. He’d hate to leave Francis in the lurch, although he was sure Rosina could manage until they replaced him.

George looked around his sparsely decorated flat. When he’d moved in just about four months ago, he hadn’t expected to be contemplating moving out again so soon. Then again, he also hadn’t expected to end up with a broken heart.  


	12. Chapter 12

“Elizabeth! Where are you?” Caroline waved her hand in front of Elizabeth’s face, jerking her out of her fugue. They’d been taking a break from class and she suddenly realised that everyone else was back on the floor, several of them looking at her questioningly. Oh God, how embarrassing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, let’s just – “ She stood and hurried into position next to Demelza, who gave her a concerned glance but, before she could say anything, the pianist struck up and class recommenced.  As _Lion_ was the final show of the season, there was nothing to rehearse so they were essentially just exercising. Elizabeth allowed herself to become absorbed in the routine movements, letting the physical exertion overtake her emotional disturbance.

This was far from the first time she’d found herself distracted lately. She’d managed to convince herself she was doing the right thing by pulling back from George, even though every word she’d said felt like it was being ripped out of her. As she watched him walk out of that coffee shop, a voice in her head had screamed at her to call him back, tell him she hadn’t meant any of it.

In the intervening couple of weeks, she’d kept on trying to tell herself that it was for the best. They’d rushed into things; it could only end in tears. As if it hadn’t already.  

“All right, what’s going on?” There was only Elizabeth, Caroline and Morwenna left in the changing rooms, but Elizabeth still did her best to avoid her friend’s gaze. So far, nobody had said anything to her, although her mood must be obvious to everyone, as must the distance between her and George.

“Nothing…” She tried to hurriedly pull on her jumper but ended up fumbling it with her shaking hands.

“Cut the crap, Beth.” Morwenna’s tone was unusually harsh, undercut by her use of her childhood nickname for Elizabeth. “You’ve been off for days now. It’s something to do with George, isn’t it? Did you two have a fight?”

“No. It’s – no.” She looked at them both. She could see from their expressions that there was no way she was going to be able to prevaricate. “I just – I decided it was best if we get some space.”

“Some space?” Caroline raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth knew how lame it sounded out loud, and in her head, every time she tried to justify it to herself. “But why? When you came back from that break you were so happy. I’ve never seen you like that before. You were glowing.”

“Did George do something?” Even as Morwenna asked this, she sounded doubtful that the answer could be affirmative.

“No! It was just better if we slowed things down, is all.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself defensively.

“How? Because you look absolutely miserable, and so does George. Why would you think – “ A look of understanding crossed Morwenna’s face. “This is to do with Ross, isn’t it?”

“Ross?” Caroline frowned. “The guy you were with at the National?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth said, quietly. There was no point denying it. Morwenna wouldn’t let it go now she’d figured it out, and she could certainly count on Caroline to back her up. Elizabeth hadn’t told Caroline everything about Ross, but she knew the basics.

“But what’s he got to do with anything?!”

“It’s – it’s complicated.” Everything she said sounded increasingly weak, and in frustration as much at herself at getting the third degree, she slammed her locker shut and grabbed her bag. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But – “

“Just leave me alone!” Elizabeth stormed past them, bumping into Morwenna, who let her go without protest. She swore when she dropped her car keys on the ground, half expecting Caroline or Morwenna to have followed her, but they hadn’t. Her burst of irritated energy lasted until she got home. Sitting on the sofa she suddenly felt quite drained and lay down on the cushions, hugging one close to her.

She would have to apologise to Caroline and Morwenna tomorrow; she could call them now, but it was better doing it in person. It had been wrong of her to snap at them, they were only concerned for her, but hearing her own doubts echoed back at her had not really hit a nerve.

Caroline’s confusion when Morwenna brought up Ross was entirely understandable. Elizabeth might be trying to use him to justify her decision, but as time went on, it was clear that it was a feeble excuse.

She’d first met Ross properly when they’d been put in the same class at the Royal Ballet School. Verity and Francis were already her friends, and they’d introduced her. The Poldarks were a bit of a novelty at the school – having two siblings there together was one thing, but the addition of a third family member was something else altogether. All three of them were exceptionally talented, but – to Elizabeth at least – Ross had something special, a sort of rawness to him. Her girlish crush had developed into more when they were teenagers, and they’d eventually become a couple. After graduating, she’d followed him to the English National Ballet despite a probably better offer from the Birmingham Royal.

For a couple of years, everything had seemed wonderful – Elizabeth had enjoyed the envious looks she got from the other ballerinas, both on stage and off, and basked in Ross’ attention. When he was in the mood to give it, that is. Oddly, it was in their professional partnerships that the cracks first began to show. Despite her romance with Ross, her performances with him at school had somehow never been quite so dynamic as they had with Francis, and this slight incompatibility had become increasingly more obvious as they rose through the ranks.

All of a sudden, Ross had announced that he was going on a six month guest stint at the Paris Opera Ballet. The same night, apparently on a complete impulse, he’d proposed to Elizabeth. Caught up in the romance of it, she’d agreed. Visiting him in Paris seemed to re-ignite something for them, and after his return Elizabeth had set to planning the wedding. However, Ross’ apparent disinterest in them actually getting married had started to unsettle her.

When she was invited for an 18 month stint at Ballet Zurich, she’d expected Ross to object – he’d been unhappy with her joining Verity for just a few guest performances with the Northern Ballet – but to her surprise, he’d enthusiastically encouraged her to go. Her time there had been neatly divided between loving both the city and her work and her creeping suspicion that it was truly over between her and Ross. Almost as soon as she moved there, he began making excuses as to why he couldn’t visit, even when she knew he wasn’t performing. Her calls went unanswered more and more frequently. The final straw had come when she’d heard a woman’s voice in the background of a rare conversation they actually did have – a voice Ross had shushed.

As soon as she returned, she’d given Ross back the engagement ring it had taken him nearly a year to buy her, and fallen into a deep funk. With unusual sensitivity, their artistic director had split them up entirely, partnering them both with others, and even casting them in different productions during the season. It had still been horrendously awkward, at least for Elizabeth. When Francis asked her if she wanted to join the South West, she’d jumped at the chance, seeing it as an opportunity not only to do some wonderful things professionally, but draw a line under things with Ross at last.

In the intervening couple of years, she’d come to realise what the problem had been. She’d tried – they’d both tried, although Ross less than her – to turn their teenage romance into a real, adult relationship. It might work for some, but it just wasn’t what they were meant for. Ultimately, they weren’t right for each other, and it would have been far better if they’d both realised that years earlier.

But that wasn’t how it was with George, was it? Despite what she’d tried to tell herself. Her problem was that they very much _were_ right for each other, and it had scared her. She’d fallen for him – no point denying it now – so fast and she’d been terrified of getting her heart broken again. The happiness she’d felt with him had reminded her of the early years with Ross, but it just wasn’t the same. Not at all. She’d been unnerved not just by how quickly her feelings for George had come, but how deep they were. How _real_.

Her phone bleeped, pulling her out of her miserable self-recrimination. It was from Morwenna, probably checking to see if she was okay despite Elizabeth’s behaviour. She didn’t read it, however, distracted by the screen background, which she hadn’t been able to bring herself to change. She’d snapped the picture of George when he wasn’t looking – for someone so handsome, he was oddly reluctant to be photographed. He stood on a sort of rocky outcrop on Fistral Beach, looking at something in the distance, the wind tousling his hair and tugging at the loose corner of his scarf.

_I’ve made such a terrible mistake._

~

“Ugh.” Francis hung up his phone with a cross expression, made rather comical by the fact he was wearing his Aslan costume, since it was the final children’s matinee before Christmas. Comical enough to pull a small smile from Elizabeth. She hadn’t felt much like smiling lately, consumed by the knowledge that she’d stupidly destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

“Everything okay?” She waggled a little paper cup out of the holder at the side of the water machine, tutting at the pathetic trickle of liquid out of the tap.

“Yeah,” Francis sighed. “It’s just – negotiations with the prop hire place. They want us to pay a larger deposit for anything we use at the Minack, since it’s allegedly more likely to get damaged performing outside. I might not mind quite so much except what they’re asking for is bordering on the extortionate.”

“Oh dear.

“Yeah. George might be able to work something out with them, but I’ll probably have to get used to this sort of thing if he’s going to be leaving us. Until we can replace him, that is.” It took Elizabeth a moment to process what Francis had said, and when she did she felt herself crush the empty cup in her hand.

“He – he’s what?” Francis looked surprised.

“Oh, I thought you’d know, of all people.” He made a face, obviously having forgotten that she wasn’t with George anymore. Francis could be hopeless with that sort of thing. “His, er, his dad’s asked him to go back to the firm, and I think he’s considering it. I suppose I can’t blame him, he’s done wonders for us, but we can’t offer him much reward…”

Elizabeth had stopped listening. George, leaving? She couldn’t imagine it. He loved this job – he hadn’t said so in as many words, but she could tell by the way he’d talked about it, about all of his ideas for the Company, about working with the creative team. There was only one reason why he might be thinking about giving it up – especially to go back to a position which had left him so unfulfilled. She’d driven him away.

If he left, there was a good chance she’d never see him again. She felt herself start to panic, her heart fluttering and her breaths coming short and sharp. No, she couldn’t let that happen.

“Ten minutes to curtain!” Ellen’s voice cut through her like a knife, and she forced herself to focus as best she could. However, as she waited at the side of the stage for her cue, her mind, for just about the first time in her career, was not on the performance.

As soon as the curtain dropped after the first act, Elizabeth was running through the backstage area and up the stairs into the main corridor, thanking Heaven that she wasn’t performing en pointe. She ignored a couple of odd looks, heads turning at the sight of a fully costumed ballerina hurrying past. Outside of George’s office, she almost collided with Rosina.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” Rosina looked astonished to see her, quite naturally. Glancing quickly between her and the office door, Rosina made a face of understanding and then gave Elizabeth an encouraging smile before disappearing away down the corridor.

George stood up when she entered, surprise written all over this face. Now that she was here, Elizabeth realised she had no idea what to say, but the words began rushing out of her anyway.

“Don’t go! You can’t go!”

“I – “

“I know there’s probably no chance of me undoing what I’ve done but don’t go because of me, please. You love this job, I know you do, and you’ve done so much here. Don’t let me push you away, away from here, that is, because I’ve already pushed you away from me. Now I know I shouldn’t have, it was just because I was scared of how much I felt and it all seemed too good to be true, but that doesn’t matter now. You can’t go, you can’t, I – “

“Elizabeth!” She pulled up short, biting her lip, thinking that she’d probably just made a complete fool of herself. But, oddly, George was smiling. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not? But Francis said your dad asked you to go back to London?”

“He did, but I’m not going to. There’s nothing for me there. And so much for me here. I think.” Could he mean - ? She took a deep breath.

“I really I am sorry for what I did. It’s too complicated to go into now, but I had a bad relationship and I let it cloud my judgement. I was worried that everything was going too fast. I came here to focus on my work, and I love my work, so much. But –“she stepped further into the office, closer to him. “But the thing is, I’m pretty sure I love you, too. And I’ve behaved like an idiot, and messed you around, and you’d have every right to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Not at all. But I am disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” She frowned.

“Yes.” He smiled, widely now. Properly. “Disappointed that, since you’re in your make-up, I can’t kiss you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally at the end! Sorry it's taken so long for me to get it all posted. 
> 
> There might be a sequel at some point in the future - says me who has a 'To write' list a mile long! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :D


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